


Bound

by orphan_account



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Bottom Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Bottom Hank Anderson, Comfort Reading, Domestic Bliss, Eventual Smut, Fluff, Human AU, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, Oral Sex, Penis In Vagina Sex, Phone Sex, Trans Connor (Detroit: Become Human), basically just soft, for a lot of the fic, they switch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-05
Updated: 2020-06-27
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:40:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 24,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21686176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Hank is the sole owner, and worker, of a quaint little cafe nestled in a quite coastal village. Nine times out of ten the weather is utterly abysmal, rolling grey clouds and rain showers most days, and his shop is hidden down a narrow cobbled back alley, but he’s somewhat of a local legend for his comfort food.It’s during one such grim, dreary day when Connor stumbles into his cafe, and his life.
Relationships: Hank Anderson/Connor
Comments: 44
Kudos: 203





	1. Chapter 1

Hank is the sole owner, and worker, of a quaint little cafe nestled in a quite coastal village in the far north of the UK. Nine times out of ten the weather is utterly abysmal, rolling grey clouds and rain showers. His cafe is hidden down a narrow cobbled back alley, but he’s somewhat of a local legend for his comfort food. Even during the winters, when tourists are scarce (not that they get many anyway) and the wind batters relentlessly at the sea front, a few stragglers always seem to find their way through his door and into the homey atmosphere of his humble shop.

It’s during one such grim, dreary day that Connor stumbles in.

It’s nearly closing time, the sun had set hours ago, Hank watching the old clock above the mantle rhythmically ticking away until it hit seven and he could pack up and go to sleep. It’s not a particularly busy time for the shop, most of his evenings, especially in this season, are spent leaning back on a chair, book in hand, occasionally grumbling when a string of hair escapes its tie and falls into his line of sight. That’s how he’d planned to spend tonight, but instead Hank is startled when the door swings open, slamming heavily behind the shape of an unfamiliar figure almost comically as the wind blows a gale outside.

Hank regards the newcomer lazily over the rim of his reading glasses. He’s obviously not one of the locals, they all knew each other from silhouettes and walks alone at this point. Besides, if it was they would have shouted some sort of greeting at him by now, rather than stand in the doorway, sopping wet and not quite sure what to do. The stranger finally looks up from where he’d been wiping his boots on the welcome mat, and it becomes apparent immediately that this man is not accustomed to this sort of weather on the regular. Dark curls are thoroughly drenched and plastered to his temples, cheeks a windswept rosy hue. Probably some worker from the city, then. Hank looks up fully from his book to watch the other, who seems to have not noticed him in his corner.

The man approaches the counter, eyes obviously scanning for some sort of bell to ring, but the shop isn’t large enough for that to be necessary.

“Caught in the rain?” Hank tries to not make his voice too sudden but it obviously doesn’t work, and he watches as the stranger startles and turns towards the sound. His recovery is quick though, letting out a breathy, slightly embarrassed sounding laugh. “Yes, I didn’t think the weather could change so quickly.”

Definitely not from around here, if not for his American accent then his general lack of knowledge of the area’s weather would give him away immediately.

“It’ll do that.” Hank hums to himself, putting down his book in favour of taking his place behind the counter while the other decides what to order. When it becomes apparent that that might take a while, he gets a head start on his closing routine, absently wiping down the aging wood of the counter.

  
  


He tries to ignore the way the stranger’s gaze sweeps him up and down, apparently too busy watching Hank to look at the menu.

  
  


“What do people usually order?” He pauses in his motions.

  
  


“In this weather? Some tea’ll warm you right up.” He nods to the other’s rain-sodden clothes, who in turn spends slightly longer than is probably necessary pretending to look at the menu before he decides to just order one pot.

Hank has just flipped the kettle on when he decides fuck it, might as well get to know something about the stranger who is now settled comfortably next to a radiator, wide eyes flitting around the shop in wonder. “Not from around here.” It’s more of a statement than a question.

“No,” He isn’t looking at Hank, he’s still much too busy taking in the cafe. His gaze lingers appreciatively on some Welsh lovespoons decorating the wall that Hank had been gifted what felt like a lifetime ago. “I’m from Michigan-” Hank’s face must be blank, US geography is not his strong suit. “Detroit.”

He lets out a low whistle. “Long way from home.”

“Maybe.” Warm brown eyes finally latch onto his own. “But it’s quiet here, I like it.” Hank’s about to mutter an agreement when he hears the kettle finishing up with a soft click and sets about making the tea, pouring himself a steaming cup while he’s at it.

He places a mug in front of the the young man, leaning his weight comfortably back on the counter with his own mug in hand. “Name’s Hank.”

“Connor.” The stranger- Connor’s - smile is small but not shy, as if he’s not used to doing it too often. It’s a nice smile though, he thinks before it can be fully filtered through. The thought is abrupt enough to startle him and he lifts the mug to his mouth to try and play it off as naturally as possible.

Connor’s shoulder relax when he takes his first sip of the comforting drink, body settling to lean back comfortably.

“Most Americans go to London, or at least one of the more well known villages.”

Connor’s nose scrunches in a way that shouldn’t be as endearing as it is. “London’s just another big city.” That has Hank breathing a short laugh, lifting his mug in agreement for a second as if it’s a pint. “You’re right about that.”

“My brother told me about this village, he came a while ago.” Thinking back, Hank can’t recall seeing any other Americans that looked like Connor. Then again, his brother might not have come through his door and Hank doesn’t exactly get too much free time to go out.

“How long are you here for?” It’s an innocent question, though he swears he sees a glimmer of something in the other’s eyes when he says it.

“A couple of weeks, I’m staying in the inn.” Hank can’t imagine how he’s going to spend most of his time, it’s not as if the village has a lot of things to do unless Connor’s into staring at the sea or field after field of sheep. Still, if he’s happy then who is Hank to question it.

Connor’s fingers drum a dulled rhythm on the table, though it seems more out of habit than any sort of nervous energy. The tapping stops abruptly when a huffed boof is heard from the back room, sudden enough to startle their comfortable silence, a small amount of tea escaping from Connor’s mug and onto the table. “You stay in there.” Hank raises his voice and is answered by a whine and the sound of snuffling at the gap in the door.

“You have a dog?” Connor asks, perked up as if he’s about to vault over the table, and when Hank nods he only manages to look more intrigued. “If you want to see him you’d have to go to the other room, hygiene rules.”

Connor nods in understanding, pushing himself off from his seat and looking expectantly at Hank. Hank sighs with no real heat behind it, coming to stand with a grunt. When their footsteps approach the door, the dog’s deep huffs only become more erratic. Sparing a look at the clock reveals that it’s so near closing time that there’s barely any chance of anyone else walking in, so Hank decides to join him, the two having to squeeze through the cafe’s narrow kitchen in a way that doesn’t leave much room for grace.

The door is only opened by a fraction before a snout is trying to push its way in. “Back up, Sumo.”

“Sumo.” Connor’s voice is full of amusement but it isn’t mocking, and they’re only in the next room for a few moments before he’s lowering to his knees to stroke the dog, other hand trying to hold the cup of tea away from Sumo’s reach.

“How old is he?” Connor asks and he has to think for a moment. “Got him the year my son went to secondary school… he’s in university now… six? Seven?” Connor’s mugs been placed haphazardly on the floor in favour of being able to grab Sumo’s head with both hands and Hank can feel his blood pressure rise with visions of it being tipped over.

“He looks very good for his age.” A freckles hand ruffles the dog’s ears. “Don’t you?” Hank can’t help but roll his eyes as Sumo basks in the attention being given to him, settling down into a chair to watch the exchange.

“Maybe the sea air does him good.” Connor hums for a moment as if he’s considering his answer, plucking his tea from the ground and taking a seat next to Hank.

“You got a dog”?

The younger man’s smile is a little put out as he stares into the pale liquid before him. “No, my mom’s allergic and now that I live on my own my apartment doesn’t allow them.” He perks back up when Sumo saunters over to flop beside him. “Maybe one day, though.”

They spend the next half an hour talking about nothing in particular. Hank is surprised at Connor’s ability to make him talk, generally he’s a man of few words, he had no idea two people could have such an in-depth conversation in the same amount of time as it takes to drink a cup of tea. Mainly he’s answering questions about the cafe – how long has he owned it, does it get very busy, does he make all the food himself. The answers are a long ass time and yes. Sumo spends the entire time betraying him, barely even batting an eye in Hank’s direction as he spends the time with his head firmly in Connor’s lap. Doesn’t help that Connor is playing right into his sly paws, fawning over him and scratching at all the good places behind his ears.

Hank barely even registers the passage of time, and only notices how late it has managed to get when the younger man is moving to stand.

“I should get going.” Connor raises to his full height, casting an almost forlorn look down at the dog, giving him a parting scratch behind the ears. “You close soon, right”?

Hank just nods, not willing to tell Connor that he technically should have closed forty minutes ago. He doesn’t exactly feel great about making him go back out into this weather, the flimsy material of his coat really won’t hold up against such an onslaught of wind and rain, even if the inn is only a short walk away.

Connor’s very nearly reached the door before he’s stopped by Hank’s voice behind him. “Wait,” Those dark eyes focusing on him are enough to make him pause for a second. “Um, do you want to borrow one of my coats?”

  
In turn Connor’s eyebrows raise up in surprise. “Oh, no, I couldn’t-”

  
“It’s fine.” He’s rubbing the back of his neck now in a nervous habit, hastily throwing on of his coats at the other man from where it had been hanged up.

Connor’s smile falters, obviously not expecting this, but it’s back in a few short seconds nonetheless. “If you insist.” He does, and before too long the younger man is kitted up in one of Hank’s raincoats, one of the ones he usually wears when he walks Sumo in the hills. Connor isn’t a short man by any stretch of the imagination, it drowns him anyway.

“Thank you for this.” There’s an embarrassed flush crawling up his cheeks as he does up the zip. “I’ll bring it back tomorrow, I promise.”

“Don’t worry about it.” He waves him off as nonchalantly as possible, though he’d be lying if he said he isn’t secretly hoping that Connor will come back again. The younger man’s hands are barely visible in the coat’s sleeves when he waves Hank goodbye and his heart does something at the sight that he tries to ignore.

The door closes with a dull thud and Hank’s left to himself again, all quiet except for the sound of Sumo snuffling at the space beneath the door, trying to go with the person who’d been giving him so much attention. Hank keeps staring at the door for a good few minutes after Connor’s disappeared out of sight, eventually he shakes his head with a sigh, attempting to clear it before he goes about closing up, mind elsewhere the whole time.

* * *

The next day Connor comes back, as promised. The weather is mercifully clear – well, the grey clouds don’t look quite as dark as usual – and the temperature is pleasant enough for him to be wearing a woolly jumper with no coat.

Speaking of coats, his own is draped over the crook of an elbow when Connor enters the cafe. He beams when he spots Hank, eyes crinkling in an almost unbearable softness.

“You survived the walk back then.” Hank smirks as the other man clumsily tries to make his way past the other patrons, dodging and weaving through the maze of chair, trying not to feel too pressured by the fact that all of the locals have turned to look at him.

“Just about.” He has to turn to apologise to a woman he’s just jostled, holding out the coat to Hank. “Thanks… for letting me borrow this.”

“Don’t worry about it,” He says, shrugging. “Wouldn’t want you getting a bad first impression of the village.”

“Oh I definitely didn’t.” He watches Hank for a few seconds, gaze lingering on different parts of his face as if waiting for a reaction. His hand comes up to balance a nearly perfect stack of coins on the counter. “Same as last time.” He gives Hank a small smile before he’s settling down at a table across from him and Hank can feel the corners of his lips turning up without his permission as he mumbles out a ‘sure’, scooting around in the cramped space to get to work.

“Got any plans for today?” Hank retreats for a few moments to flip the kettle on, returning promptly to his return customer.

“Sightseeing, probably, maybe the seafront?” He’s smiling as he says this, although Hank isn’t entirely sure why anyone would be so excited to see what is, in this season, essentially just a wash of grey skies over grey seas crashing over equally grey rocks. Connor’s fingers are drumming against the solid wood of the table again, though he notes that it's not particularly out of any obvious nervousness, more out of habit.

“It’s pretty windy out, try not to get blown away.”

The younger man let’s out an amused hum. “I think I’ll manage, I like the weather being a little rough. I feel like it gives the place character.”

Hank raises an eyebrow at that, head shaking in bewilderment. “If you say so.” He turns his attention back to the kettle, only needing to wait a few moments longer before it’s finished.

He tries not think too hard about how well Connor fits in amongst the rest of the locals in the shop. Hell, he’d even exchanged a hello with some of them whilst he waits for the kettle to boil, must have been making good impressions all around town. Connor waits patiently for him from where he’s sat, letting himself be distracted when Alice peers over the table at him to ask questions. The kid’s too curious for her own good, god knows her mother’s had more than a few moments of panic when she wanders off to explore.

Speaking of, Kara is trying to distract the kid and tell her not to be rude, but Alice is having none of it.

Mainly she’s asking about where he’s from - she doesn’t know it, she only really knows about New York. What he does - works in accounting apparently, and here Hank though he looked like he worked more in the arts, though maybe that’ll teach him to judge a book by its cover. Apparently Connor finds his job as boring as Alice does though because they move on pretty quickly.

She’s about to bombard him with another set of quick-fire questions when Hank interrupts. “Your tea.” The mug meets the table with a satisfying clunk, Connor’s cold hands immediately meeting it to take comfort in its heat, and if his cold fingers brush Hank’s own for a split second neither of them say anything about it.

They chat for a while longer, Kara being roped into the conversation by Alice’s enthusiasm. Of course Connor takes it all in stride, though unfortunately this time he doesn’t stay too long, just long enough to entertain Kara and Hank, before it’s time for him to go, waving goodbye to Alice, who’s practically being held back from running after him with more questions.

* * *

Connor’s little visits become something of a routine between them. Hank finds himself waiting eagerly for his newest - however temporary - regular to grace the café with his presence.

When he enters again at the end of the week- has he known him for a week already?- there’s something different in him. He’s still his usual cheery self, though his fidgeting’s a lot worse and just watching his fingers dancing against the table is enough to make Hank himself feel nervous. It dissipates ever so slightly once he has a mug in his hand, though there’s obviously something he wants to say. Hank holds himself back from asking, if Connor wants to tell him whatever it is that’s on his mind he’ll tell him, and besides, he doesn’t feel like it’s really his place to pry.

Connor’s jittery energy lessens when he has Hank to focus on and they talk about the usual things, comparing travels and interests, laughing at his stories of Cole’s shenanigans way back when Hank used to take him on holiday.

When they say goodbye this time they stand a little closer than is probably necessary, though if either one of them thinks to comment on it neither of them chooses to. Instead Hank watches Connor’s back as he leaves like usual, only this time he turns back to see if Hank’s still watching. He is.

He only lasts a split second of knowing eye contract before he has to look down and away, trying not to notice the way Connor’s shoulder shake when he chuckles at him, the sound of the door closing leaving Hank alone with his thoughts, which don’t leave him even when he tries to settle down for bed that night. He knows it’s silly for him to be thinking so much about someone he’s just met, but he can’t exactly deny that him and Connor have clicked in a way that’s very rare for him, and he can’t help but want to know more about the younger man.

This little routine of theirs goes on between them for another week, and once again it’s just another morning of Connor coming in to get the usual, but this time he finally blurts out what must have been keeping his mind so preoccupied for the past week.

“You get Sundays off, right?”

“Yep, why?”

  
“Nothing, I was just thinking about hiking in the hills.” He swirls the tea around in its mug, staring intently into the warm drink as if it’s the most interesting thing in the world. “Apparently it’s not recommended to go alone.”

Hank leans his weight forward onto the table, crowding into the other man’s personal space more than is strictly necessary and taking some sort of pleasure in watching how the other man tries to swallow without looking too obvious. “Scared you’ll get hurt?”

“No.” He tries his hardest to look offended. “I just think I’d feel better if someone with local knowledge was with me.”

“That right?” He pretends to take his time considering this, snoring when brown eyes narrow at him as if testing him. “Cafe’s closed Sundays, I should be free.” That seems to knock Connor’s confidence a bit, and the younger man looks as if he didn’t think he’d get this far, hands paused mid-action from where he was about to take a sip.

“Only if you’re not busy though, I’m sure you have-“

“Connor,” Connor’s rambling stops. “I’m happy to go with you.” He means it, and the truth must show on his face because Connor doesn’t look like he’s going to argue any further. “And I’m sure it’ll be a good laugh to watch you fall in the mud.”

The pout he receives is worth a few seconds of Connor’s offended silence, especially when he can’t keep character and breaks out into a smile anyway.

“I’m sure you won’t let me fall.” He jokes, smile not unlike a Cheshire cat as his fingers resume drumming against the mug.

“Of course not.” His reply stops Connor’s the fidgeting in its tracks and he turns to smile into the cup.

The two stay in a comfortable silence, Connor’s eyes occasionally look up from the rim of his mug, though they quickly dart away when they meet Hank’s own. For all his confidence and teasing words, he’s remarkably shy whenever Hank plays along.

Hank himself is having no better luck with acting casual, despite the chill in the air he feels much too hot in his button up, the urge to undo its top few buttons growing by the minute, especially with the way Connor keeps looking as if he’s about to say something more, and it takes a couple times of him stopping and starting before he finally spits it out.

“Do you have a phone?” The question is shy compared to his usual easy going nature. “It would be easier to plan if we had each other’s numbers, but if you don’t have one-”

“How old do you think I am?” He’s already pulling the phone from his pocket. “I’m not quite geriatric yet.”

He tries to ignore the knowing eyes of a familiar face watching him while they exchange numbers, cheeks feeling hot despite the fact that he’s fifty two years old for god’s sake.

He’s unfortunately pulled away when said familiar face gestures him over, ready to order, and he spares a glance to Connor who only smiles shyly and nods for him to take care of business.

She smiles that same smile that used to drive him insane when he makes his way over, a dark eyebrow raised. Deb always was able to read him easier than most people, and this occasion is obviously no exception.

“So,” She says. “Who’s that?”

“A tourist.”

“A tourist.” She leans forward so that her voice doesn’t carry too much. “Do you give out your number to all of them?”

He huffs but doesn’t respond, content to let her have her little victory. Some find it strange that there’s no bad blood between them, but their divorce didn’t change the fact that they click well together as friends. After four years there are no hard feelings involved, not that there ever was anyway – Cole had literally said ‘finally’ when they, regrettably, told him over the phone that their relationship had run its course. If they were being honest, their marriage had been one of two people reaching their thirties and panicking about the future, rushing into a marriage and a child who, although he’d grown up in a loving house, had been able to see the lack of romance between his parents by the time he’d become a teenager.

Before she has an opening to roast him any further he hears the legs of Connor’s chair scraping from behind him. He glances back to see the other man readying to leave, though not before he crosses the space to approach Hank and subtly - or maybe not so subtly, judging by the look on Deb’s face - lays a hand on his bicep, leaning into his space as if he’s telling him a secret. “So I’ll come here Sunday morning?”

“Yeah.” His voice did not just crack halfway through that word thank you very much. “See you then.” The door shuts heavily and he can practically feel the smug look on her face. “Shut up Deb.”

She gasps, a hand to her heart though her eyes are beyond amused. “I never said anything.”

It takes a moment for reality to sink in. But when it does he feels as if he’s been violently thrown into the sea by a stray wave. His thoughts are almost too fast to make any sense of.

What is this?

Is this a date?

Why would Connor ask him on a date?

He can’t help the thought that he’s getting ahead of himself. Connor is at least twenty years his junior, what would he ever possibly see in someone like Hank. Maybe he’s just being nice, he probably just thinks of this as something between friends and Hank has no intention of ruining it. Even so, he does want to look as good as possible, even if he is being delusional about the nature of this meeting. Is there even a way to dress nicely when you’re going on a hike?

Planning every detail of the trip takes up so much of his mind that he doesn’t even notice when new people come in. It’s only when one of the locals - an older man - clears his throat that he realises he’s been staring blankly at the door Connor disappeared out of.

When the day is over Hank barely has any recollection of it, anything past Connor’s visit was just him going through the motions, serving customer after customer but not really taking in any information past that.

* * *

  
So here he stands, staring at the sorry sight of himself over the bathroom sink. He’s set his glasses on the edge to inspect the damage his lack of beard care has done. All in all, it’s nothing a quick trim can’t fix, but he dares not change anything else about himself, he doesn’t want Connor to think he’s put a suspicious amount of effort into this if it is just a trip between friends.

Connor texts him a few times that night, mostly just brainstorming sights that he wants to see. Hank’s heart flutters whenever he hears the telltale ping of his phone and he swears he’s using more of his data in one night than he has in the past year on texting with Connor. It doesn’t take them long to get off topic, texts veering away from day plans into talking about who knows what, it’s 1AM and he barely has any recollection of a lot of it by the time he passes out into his bed, good sleep not coming easy to his jittery mind.


	2. Chapter 2

Come Sunday Hank only has to wait until 10am when he hears a quick knock from the front door. Opening it reveals Connor, looking a thousand times more spry than Hank feels for this time of day, though the murky weather has made his hair curl even more than usual, frizz sprouting uncontrollably. He's finally started to take Hank's warning about the weather seriously, and his outfit makes him look as if he'll actually be adequately protected from the elements for once.

_There's a first time for everything._ The thought makes him smile.

“Are we taking Sumo?” It’s rhetorical, Sumo’s already rigged up and ready to go and Hank feels his groggy mood ease when Connor’s smile lights up the morning and his arm is grabbed and yanked rather enthusiastically out of the door.

It rained heavily in the night and the streets are damp and murky but the atmosphere is peaceful as they make their way to the village’s edge. Mostly Connor is telling him about everything he’s seen so far in his trip – apparently he’d never seen a castle before – but Hank, with a hint of guilt, has some trouble concentrating on the other man’s words, instead captivated by the sight of Connor talking so animatedly about something. His hands gesture in front of him as he describes every detail of what he’s seen, eyes alight the entire time, Hank barking out laughs whenever Connor does his atrocious British accent when he tries to imitate some of the people he’s met, though it doesn’t offend Connor in the slightest and he soon joins in with his own light laughter.

In turn Hank tells him some of the history – although honestly he gets history and folklore mixed up sometimes – of the landmarks dotting the hills: a stone arch that no-one is sure of the origins of; the barely there foundations of an old barn where two lovers allegedly took their own lives rather than be apart and the valley that apparently helped the soldiers of a long forgotten war achieve a strategic victory. Even the dire conditions can’t stop Connor’s infectious enthusiasm from spreading to Hank, and every time his boots get annoyingly stuck in the mud he’s distracted from his annoyance by Connor pointing to something and asking questions.

It definitely isn't Hank's favourite weather for hiking, but he'd take it any day over the days when the town is unusually warm and he and Sumo have to get up extra early to get their walk in before the sun becomes too unbearable.

Sumo’s been trotting a few paces ahead of them the whole time, tail swishing lazily behind him as he enjoys himself, occasionally returning to the two of them to get a head pat before he bounds away again, doing what every dog does, making sure to find the muddiest puddles possible to traipse through.

Navigating some of the badly maintained country paths is a bit of a challenge, trails long since flattened by all those before them and it’s when they’re trying to shimmy between a rather steep edge and a rain-slicked wooden fence that he feels Connor shift suddenly beside him.

“Careful sweetheart.” He barely has time to grab Connor’s arm, hauling him up to settle back on his feet, trying not to dwell to much on how easy it is for him to lift him. And fuck, he hopes to God that Connor takes the slip up as part of the local accent or something, anything to save him the embarrassment.

Apparently he’s not quite that lucky. Brown eyes widen at him and his lips part but no sound comes out, though he does eventually shift into a nervous smile and come to stand fully on his own two feet again, high cheekbones dusted with a red that he’d probably dismiss as the cold. He looks very much caught off guard, as if unsure of what to do with something so unexpected and Hank worries that he might have ruined the comfortable friendship between them.

His fears are diminished when Connor doesn’t make any move to remove Hank’s hand from where it’s resting at his forearm.

His small ‘thank you’ is drowned out by the sound of Sumo’s barking. They turn to watch, cringing, as he attempts to run after some birds who’s only crime is enjoying themselves in one of the large puddles. Only he doesn’t manage that, the graceless beast that he is, and they can only watch on helplessly as his front paws lose any traction on the ground, giant body crashing into the mud with a surprised yelp. He slides a few feet forward, out of control until he finally stops.

Then he just lays there, bewildered, birds long gone, the sounds of Connor and Hank’s laughter in the distance.

Potentially awkward situation successfully diverted, Hank takes the opportunity to continue walking, his hand leaving its comfortably place at Connor’s arm, though he immediately misses the warmth of the other man as he shoves in back into his pocket. He almost thinks he imagines the way Connor looks at his hand and smiles to himself, a small sigh parting his lips as they start walking again. They both roll their eyes when Sumo sheepishly trots over, looking about as ashamed as a dog can look with his completely mud-saturated body.

“At least he’s enjoying himself.” Connor grins whilst Hank glares disapprovingly down at the dog, he’s not looking forward to heaving Sumo into the bath later tonight. “A lot of dogs in the city barely get a chance to see places like this.”

“Yeah,” The two continue walking, being sure to be careful of the slippery mud underneath them. “Can’t imagine living anywhere else to be honest.” Connor makes a thoughtful noise, eyes surveying the views before them.

“Exactly how long have you run the cafe for?” His voice is curious.

“Most of my life by now, I opened it up when I was in my twenties.”

“Do you like it?”

“Yeah,” He smiles fondly. “I like living here and I get to keep up with all the locals when they come in, sometimes get to meet tourists,” He pauses. “some of them make quiet the impression.” Dark eyes soften at him for a moment before they lower again.

“I wish I could say the same.” The admission is quiet and subdued compared to his usual enthusiasm.

“You’re not happy?” The younger man’s shoulders lower in a way that gives Hank his answer and he’s struck by a feeling so charged it feels as if it could knock him off his feet. He decides immediately that he really doesn’t like seeing Connor unhappy.

“I wouldn’t say... unhappy.”

“Then what?”

“Maybe... aimless.” He shrugs. “I guess I just don’t see what my endgame is.” The corner of his lip quirks up as if he’s uncomfortable.

Hank lets out a huff, watching the way his breath leaves in a cloud. “Not sure I can help you with that.” It takes about five more seconds of having to see Connor’s miserable expression before he’s caving and trying to figure out a way to fix it. “You liked it at the start right? What made you choose it?”

“It’s what I’m good at.” His voice is defeated.

“It’s not the only thing you’re good at though.” Hank realises he has no idea where he’s going with this advice but he can’t stop. “You’re too much of a people person for accounting bullshit. You’ve been here barely a week and already half the village apparently loves you.”

The look the other man gives him spurs him on, a hand coming to rest back on Connor’s forearm, hand practically blanketing it, it’s meant to be comforting, so he hopes the other man doesn’t see it as rude. “I guess what I’m trying to say is, you could do anything you want.”

He watches Connor’s mouth open but no sound comes out, instead a hand comes to take Hank’s wrist, but he doesn’t remove it. The weight stays there, anchoring them both into the moment.

“Thank you,” His eyes are finally back to normal, brown depths the same warmth and comfort as that of a hearth fire.

They eventually begin the walk back to the shop, although now the air around them feels different- comfortable - their conversations barely seems to have any pauses and Hank finds himself unable to wipe away the stupid smile plastered stubbornly on his face.

They both look ridiculous, hair frizzed from repeatedly getting drizzled on before drying and repeating the process. Connor’s hair has gone haywire, curls flying in random directions without any rhyme or rhythm, not that his own has fared much better. If it was any other day he definitely wouldn’t be enjoying himself, soaked to the bone courtesy of the many showers they walked through and shoes uncomfortably squelching with every step taken, still, his bright and cheery company more than makes up for it.

When they do eventually make it back Connor sighs in relief, stripping himself of his top layers, a coat and jacket, before laying the articles against one of the radiators. Hank quickly scoots Sumo into the back and onto a towel before he does the same, shouting a question of “tea?”into the other room and flicking the kettle on.

Connor smiles gratefully up at him when the mug is placed in front of him, Hank taking his own seat next to him – trying not to groan in appreciation when the radiator begins to work it’s magic on his remaining damp clothes and tired bones. As much as the two try not to peek too closely at how the other’s clothes have stuck themselves to damp skin they both catch each other in the act and look away for a few seconds, Hank pinching the bridge of his nose to try and quell any rising embarrassment.

Not that the two of them have any intention of letting any awkwardness form, and it isn’t long until Connor finds himself almost uncontrollably info-dumping Hank about all the new things he’d learnt today as if the older man hadn’t been there with him the entire time. It brings a soft smile to Hank’s face, watching as the other slowly warms up and becomes more animated, eyes shining with the energy of a crackling fire.

It’s almost as if this has always been their routine, or as if Connor had arrived years ago, instead of merely weeks, the two conversing as if they are old friends as they slowly dry off, talking about nothing in particular until the skies are growing dark and the air colder.

As much as they both want to remain in this new little world of theirs, Connor’s next words break through any spell with a terrible accuracy. “I almost don’t want to go.”

Hank feels the lighthearted mood disintegrate, and not only just because the sun has begun to set in the mid-afternoon sky. It’s as if his brain has finally caught up to reality. “Connor.” Sad brown eyes look up to him and widen slightly when a heavy hand comes to rest over one of his own. “I’m just glad we could meet at all.”

That smile returns. “Me too.” Connor’s other hand hovers over Hank’s before coming down, the younger man letting out a breath, taking in Hank from a closer view than ever before. They sit like that for a while longer, neither of them noticing the exact point when their fingers become intertwined. Connor’s leaving tomorrow in the afternoon to take the bus into the city, then to the airport, then away, forever. That last fact has opened a pit in his stomach, even though this was always going to happen.

This time when it’s time for Connor to leave he does so noticeably slower than usual, taking his time with putting his outer clothes back on.

“We can still text.” He says hopefully when they’re both stood at the door.

“Yeah,” The fact that Connor still wants to talk to him, even though they probably won’t meet again, fills him with some hope. “I’d like that.”

It’s definitely time for him to go but he still hasn’t made any move to open the door, instead his back is still turned away from it, hesitation plain on his down-turned face. Hank doesn't really know what else to do other than to rest a hand at the other man's neck, trying to convey some sort of feeling of comfort through it. It seems to work, Connor sighing before leaning into the warmth, trying to smile though it doesn't reach his eyes. He decides to be a little self indulgent since he may not see the other again, and lets his thumb slowly stroke back and forth across Connor's exposed collarbone, mapping out the constellations of freckles that he always knew were hiding there. It takes a few more moment for the shorter man to tilt his head back up, skin lit up a soft orange hue from the sun's descent. Hank hesitates when a hand touches his, halting his caresses and barely gets any time to process anything before Connor’s raises up onto his tiptoes to press his lips against him.

It takes a few moments for his brain to catch up with what's happening and Hank gives a surprised hum but presses back quickly when he feels Connor hesitate against him, smiling into the kiss when Connor relaxes. It's a little bit clumsy and both of their lips are chapped from the days events, but it's perfect anyway. Hank's hand glides back to tangle in a mess of brown curls, lips moving hesitantly over Connor's own as he uses the new leverage to tilt the other's head.

They only part for a few seconds, eyes immediately finding each other, before they both lean in again, a soft noise leaving Connor’s lips when Hank wraps an arm around his trim waist. He loses track of anything happening outside of them as they explore and find their rhythm, and when Connor leans back Hank chases after his lips, stopping when he feels hands gently pushing him back and they both laugh breathily into the space between them.

"I have some time tomorrow." He presses another quick kiss insistently against Hank's lips. "Can I come see you in the morning?"

"Of course you can." Hank draws back fully so he can frame Connor's face with his hands. "Wouldn't miss it."

When Connor smiles he makes sure to map the shape of his lips with his fingers, trying to commit everything to memory, heart clenching when Connor gives the offered fingers a few chaste pecks. "I really do have to go pack though." It's true unfortunately, but neither of them wants to be the first to break contact. Connor smiles apologetically, leaning in to steal a final kiss before he moves away, Hank immediately missing the warmth of him pressed so closely to him.

"Tomorrow." The younger man says in his lilting voice, finally moving to open the door.

"Tomorrow." Hank agrees, smiling as he watches the him leave. Once he does, the cafe feels empty and his gaze lingers on the lovespoons staring back at him from the wall. It's enough to make him scoff at how young he feels again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not gonna lie this part of the story gave me trouble for months so it might be a bit stop and start in places.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this fic’s Connor transitioned a decade ago so he’s undergone top surgery and has reached the full extent of his bottom growth, the terms I use in this chapter (and this fic) are mostly terms like dick and hole, in case this makes anyone uncomfortable

The next morning is one of those frigid clear sky mornings that starts with a dusting of frost blanketing every surface and Hank has to hype himself up before he can even muster up the effort to take the bins out. He knows he looks like shit without even having to look in the mirror. Sleep had evaded him all night after the turn of events of yesterday, mind too preoccupied to let him stay asleep for more than an hour at a time. But unlike any other morning when he’s slept badly, he’s actually in a good mood for this one. Connor should be turning up any minute now. They’d been texting all morning, Hank bleary eyed and barely conscious while Connor had been panicking over packing. Hank had had to list off all the essentials: passport; plane tickets; camera, before he’d finally stopped fretting. He didn’t envy how jetlagged he’ll probably be after the four hours it’ll take to get to the airport, then the twelve to Detroit.

_Nearly there now!_ The message was sent three minutes ago and Hank had been trying to sit still ever since. He can’t take too long to get to the door if he knows that Connor is near, but he can hardly wait near the door and open it as soon as he hears a knock, that would be weird. Or maybe he’s overthinking it.

There’s not much time for him to continue because there’s a sharp rap on his door seconds later. When he opens it that now familiar smile is the first thing he sees, Connor looking a little tired after what must have been a rocky walk trying to haul his heavy suitcase along the cobble path, Hank’s surprised he didn’t hear him. He backs into the shop, gesturing the other in.

“Have you got an entire other person in there?”

“Hey I was here for a while, I had to pack a lot.”

Once Connor’s inside he turns to him, shyly leaning up to leave a kiss at his cheek, as if wanting to make sure it's okay for him to do so. As he pulls away Hank doesn’t let him get very far, tilting his head to press their lips together more firmly, a small thrill going up him at the satisfied hum that brings out of the other. “How long have we got?” He asks before leaning in again.

“Not very long, less than an hour.” When Connor sinks into him it feels like an instinct to just hold him, letting him get whatever he needs from the embrace. They stay like that for more than a few moments, Connor’s grip around his middle tightening every now and then. “I don’t want to end this.” He says in a small voice, arms wrapping around Hank’s waist like some sort of constrictor, but Hank isn't complaining. His own hands move to cradle the back of the other's head, fingers carding through thick, frizzy hair.

“We don’t have to.”

Connor’s arms loosen their grip around him so he can look at Hank properly, dark eyes searching him intently. “Do you really mean that?” There's a vulnerability in his voice and expression that he's not used to seeing, eyebrows drawn up as if he was worried Hank would outright reject him - as if that would ever happen.

"Of course I do." He leaves a quick kiss on his forehead. "I don't know how you've managed it in two weeks, but I don't want to just lose you." As he says it Connor's smile grows until it's spread across his face.

"I don't want to lose you either." When Hank tries to kiss him again it's made harder by the fact that neither of them can stop themselves from smiling, though eventually they do transition into sitting across from each other, hands clasped as they speak in hushed tones to one another as if they're telling secrets they don't want anyone else to hear. It's bittersweet, Hank thinks, how happy he is in this moment and how in less than half an hour Connor will have to leave again. At least it will be easy for them to keep in contact, even if time-zones are uncooperative every now and then. If they try they'll be able to make time for each other, Hank knows that he won't let anyone get in the way of him keeping in touch with Connor, and he gets the feeling that the other feels the same way.

Hank laments the fact that his cafe is open when another couple walk in and they have to put a respectable distance between themselves. Not that he doesn't want to tell anyone who'll listen that they're seeing each other, but it'll be easier to get through life without nosy villagers poking and prodding him with questions. Hank's fixing up the couple's breakfasts in the kitchen when Connor decides to join him, which probably looks suspicious as hell but he can't find it in himself to care. Unfortunately, he does actually have to go, and they spend the next few minutes wrapped around each other, Hank leaving whiskery kisses wherever he can on the other until he's sure he's given attention to every available square inch of him. When Connor pulls away he immediately wants him wrapped back up in his arms, but instead he has to watch as he collects his suitcases and makes to leave.

He barely even looks at the couple as he puts their plates in front of them, he's too busy watching Connor leave to even make an attempt at good customer service. Something in his heart dampens when the door swings closed behind the younger man, a sudden feeling on loneliness washing over him despite the other people in the room and he has to retreat to the kitchen for a few moments, busying his hands with washing up cutlery to try and take his mind of things. His mood is lightened when his phone lights up with Connor's running commentary of his trip to the bus station, and the couple in the cafe must think there's something wrong with him when he's smiling at the picture of himself Connor sends him when he boards.

Hank can tell when he reaches further into the countryside, messages not even being delivered to the other’s phone in the black hole of phone reception that is the valley and he's left with that same feeling of not knowing what to do with himself. Despite his loneliness now this is the best he's felt in years, not that he's been unhappy but it's nice to finally be back in the game, to have something going on other than the routine of the cafe.

He’s not left stewing for too long though, and the door jingles when Deb steps in.

"Why are we brooding?" Is the unimpressed question that reaches him once she takes him in. He didn't think he looks any different than usual but something must give him away, because she looks concerned for him, even if she's trying to use humour to diffuse the tension he's carrying around with him.

"I'm not." Her expression clearly says that she doesn't believe him. "Maybe a little." That gets a little laugh out of her, and her smile deepens the lines of her crows feet when her eyes pause on the lovespoons, grey depths swimming with nostalgia. He’d made sure to keep them in good condition, even after all these years.

“I’m glad you kept those.” Her fingers trace over an intricate design.

“Of course I did.” He says. “We’re still friends, Deb.”

“Yeah,” Her voice is wistful. “We’re luckier than most.” She takes a couple more moments to be lost in old memories before she orders the usual, and the two stay in a comfortable quiet while Hank gets to work boiling the kettle. Even making tea - something he must have done at least a couple thousand times in his lifetime - makes his mind wander to Connor and she must sense it from his far away gaze when he sets the pot and cup down at a table. “So... Connor’s gone?”

It takes him a moment to get out of his own head and process the question but when he does he raises an eyebrow, not entirely expecting her to bring him up, if anything he’d expected her to bring something up about Cole and his studies like she usually would. “Yeah, left this morning.”

She hums, sitting back down at the table across from him, pouring some milk into her tea in a well-practiced ritual, reaching out a calloused, work-worn hand for a sugar cube. “I saw you, you know.” Her tone is neutral but she’s stirring the sugar into her tea with a small smile on her face. “I was tending to the sheep.” When Hank continues to stare at her blankly she continues. “On Sunday.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.” She chuckles. “Got a pretty good view of you walking off with him.”

“Okay,” He huffs, hoping that the heat he can suddenly feel isn't translating into a blush. “doesn’t mean anything happened.”

“ _Did_ nothing happen?” She got that knowing smirk across her face and he already knows he’s been found out, she's always had some sort of freakish sixth sense when it comes to him, she knows how he feels and what he wants before he himself does sometimes. He tries to ignore her as best as he can but it becomes apparent very quickly that she’s not going to let this go and he sighs in exasperation.

“We’re… talking.”

“Talking.” She deadpans, shoulder shaking with a barely withheld chuckle.

“Yeah,” He says. “We’re gonna see how it goes.” Luckily for him she doesn’t prod at him further, though her smile doesn’t leave her face and Hank knows that she’s happy for him in the same way he was happy for her when she moved on and found another man, hell, he'd been at the wedding, even if he did get a few odd stares from some of the members of her family.

He spends the rest of the day throwing himself into his work more than usual to try and distract himself, though he does end up checking his phone nearly every hour just in case Connor's miraculously managed to get phone reception thousands of feet in the air. Each time his phone turns up blank he tries not to let it get him down, after all, what did he expect, but it's harder than he ever thought it would be. He's glad for the fact that the cafe is busier than usual today, otherwise he'd just be sat waiting for his phone to buzz all day, and the conversations offered by his regulars help him to not go completely insane.

When he takes Sumo for his usual walk he can't help but let his mind wander to the walk with Connor, and how nice his hand wrapped around his arm had felt. At least keeping contact long distance now is a hell of a lot easier than when he was a younger man, and though it could never substitute the real feeling of having Connor pressed against him, it will have to do, until the next time they can see each other.

As he settles into bed that night it hits him that they never did take a picture and he mentally kicks himself for not thinking of it before, though at least he has the picture of Connor’s smiling face on the bus that he’d sent him before.

He’s just about to finally fall asleep when his phone buzzes from the bedside table. It’s a picture from Connor, of course, looking a lot more tired than usual but smiling nonetheless, a cheerful little message about landing underneath.

‘ _What time is there?’_ It takes a couple more minutes for Connor to reply and Hank has to pinch himself a few times when his eyes continue to fight for sleep.

‘ _3PM.’_ The little sad face after the message has him smiling, but he knows he’ll have to end this soon before he’s passing out in bed. _’_ _I’m already very tired though.’_

‘ _Good luck with that.’_ He keys in and sends, before he starts another message. ‘ _Night Con.’_ He sets the phone down and is just about to tip over the edge of consciousness when he dimly hears another buzz, though he’s much too far gone to reply.

* * *

When Hank doesn’t reply after ten minutes Connor knows that he must has fallen asleep. It’s almost pathetic, and he almost wants to hit himself for already missing the other man. He practically looks right through Niles waiting for him once he’s collected his luggage, but when his brother questions him he just blames it on the jetlag, he’s not quite in the mood to listen to teasing for an entire car journey, no matter how good intentioned it is.

“So, did you like it?” Niles asks from behind the wheel as Connor’s eyes droop, offering the other a grunt as a reply. “Don’t fall asleep.” Another groan. “Don’t. You’ll ruin your sleep schedule.”

He’s right, but it doesn’t make Connor resent him any less in the moment. He’s always been a nightmare when he’s sleep deprived, not to mention the fact that he’s pining as if he’s some sort of lovesick teenager.

It takes him far longer than it usually would to notice that they’re not headed in the direction of his apartment, and Niles notices his confusion immediately.

“We’re going to Mom’s, she made food.” He says, but Connor must look unimpressed because he continues. “Don’t be like that.”

To his credit he does put on a good performance of ‘I’m in a good mood and not sleep deprived at all’ but he is still happy when it’s all over and it hits an acceptable time to go home and go to bed. He'll wait a little while to tell Niles and Amanda, neither of them is known for being subtle when it comes to questioning any of his partners. Not that he's had too many, always too busy with a job that he barely even tolerates anymore, one that he's definitely not looking forward to getting back to in the next few days, but at least now he has Hank to keep him company with his texts and his pictures to remind him that he does have something else outside of this, something he wasn't sure he would ever have.

* * *

The two spend the next few months in a blur of mind-numbing routines. Wake up, go to work, go to bed. At least the time difference isn't too bad between them, Connor can usually talk to Hank anytime from morning until late afternoon, by that time it starts getting too late for Hank to stay up and Connor has to deal with his absence until the morning, though he does at least have a good group of friends to spend his time with, and Hank had already been jokingly threatened by a red-haired woman - North, he later learned - half-drunkenly threatening him in the background of a video call. It was all in good humour though, she'd even somehow got his number to send an embarrassed sorry in the morning, Connor had also sent him a barely legible text to say he was sorry for drunk calling. Hank hadn't minded, it was cute, if anything, that Connor's first drunk thought had been to call him, even if it was interrupted by another drunk friend, at least he could tell they were well-intentioned.

The morning after was like any other and it was halfway through the day as he flipped the kettle on that Connor calls him, and Hank has to bite back a laugh at how hungover the other man sounds, voice rough around the edges.

"How's the hangover?" Connor groans in response and he has a feeling that the other man is sat with his head in his hands.

"Bad." He grumbles. "Remind me not to drink again." There's sounds in the background that immediately tell Hank that he isn't at home.

“Are you okay? You sound...” He tries to pinpoint it. “off.” Then he continues. "Apart from the hangover."

Connor chuckles. “I’m fine, I’ve just been in this waiting room for ages now.”

Hank puts the kettle back in its place, brow furrowing, full attention now on the other. “You okay? No one got hurt last night did they?”

“No, nothing like that, don’t worry.” That doesn’t stop him from worrying in the slightest. “I usually drag North with me to make the wait less annoying, but she's in no condition right now." Another laugh, then his voice takes on a quality that tells Hank that he's nervous but trying to sound casual. "I’m just waiting for another T prescription.”

“T?” A few seconds of silence pass and he wonders for a second if he's said something wrong or if the reception has cut out.

“...Testosterone.”

Hank’s always been pretty good at deducing things, he’s even too curious for his own good sometimes, so it doesn’t take him long to put two and two together. Even so, it must have taken just a little too long because Connor’s worried voice is in his ear again, quieter this time. “Hank?” It’s a voice he never wants to hear directed at him again, one that’s trying to stay cool and collected whilst obviously cautious, as if worried that Hank will react badly.

“Yeah?”

“Do you know what that means?”

“Yes, sweetheart.”

There’s a muffled rustling sound on the other end of the phone and the background noise diminishes a little so Hank thinks the other's probably walked somewhere a bit quieter. “And?”

“That doesn’t change anything.”

He can hear an intake of breath through the speaker, and when Connor’s voice returns there’s definitely a watery quality to it that makes Hank feel as if something is sitting on his chest. "It means everything to me," He pauses again, evidently trying to wrestle control over the emotion in his voice. "I should have said something when I was there, I'm sor-"

"Don’t apologise." He waits for the other to calm down, listens to his breaths slowing, only continuing when Connor has gone quiet again. "I don't blame you for not saying anything, I can't imagine it's an easy topic to just bring up with people, but I'm glad you could tell me."

He doesn't get a response for another long few moments. "I feel very comfortable with you," The words are cautious. "I've never felt like this with anyone else."

"Me neither." It's true, even with Deb their love had been more like the love between good friends than anything else, and any relationships he'd had when he was younger had been fleeting affairs. It's as much of an admission as he's ready to make right now, staring down into the dark depths of a mug of tea with the object of his love thousands of miles away, but he wouldn't trade it for the world, especially when he hears Connor's lilted laugh in his ear.

"I have to go now, they just called my name." He sounds disappointed. "But I'll call you later- hopefully less hungover."

"Looking forward to it sweetheart." He can practically hear the purr with contentment when Connor hums at the pet name, but then all he hears is silence from the the other end of the phone as the other has to hang up.

* * *

Detroit's weather is finally becoming less dreary as spring finally starts to settle in in full, the first trees daring to put on their green coats. It's during a sunny day that he sends Hank a picture of himself looking as cheerful as the weather, only to be sent back a picture of Hank trying to look as dramatically down as the grey surroundings he's in. Unfortunately for him, Niles is with him during this, and a warm smile is still on his face when he looks up and is trapped by his brother's steely gaze.

"Who are you talking to?"

It's about time he tells him. After all, he's been dating Hank for months now, but that doesn't stop him from wanting to be a little shit about it as he pockets his phone, eyebrow raised. "No one, I don't know what you're talking about."

Niles knows that's bullshit, and doesn't stop prying for information, which Connor gives up with a dramatic sigh as if he wasn't about to tell him anyway. "I met someone while I was away."

"And you managed to keep this quiet how?" His words are harsh but there's a small smile playing on his face.

"I can keep secrets when I want to." He says. "I only really bring him up around North and Markus when I need advice."

"North and Markus know?" Niles asks, voice incredulous, flushing even more indignantly when Connor nervous mumbles 'and Simon'. "Who else knows?"

"No one." His brother's still pouting at him. "Well if I told you then mom would somehow find out, and I didn't need her doing an international manhunt to find out everything about him."

"You know that's just her way of caring."

"I know, but I wanted to make sure things were going well before I told her."

"You've told me." He can see the cogs turning in Niles' head. "So... does this mean you're telling her soon?"

"Hopefully," He says. "I'm going to tell her tomorrow."

"She'll be happy for you." The words fill him with a low warmth in his chest and he knows it's true. Amanda, for all her stern words and pushing into good careers, has only ever wanted them both to be happy. When they'd first arrived at her house Connor had been cautious and overprotective of his younger brother. But even with the demands of her job and the stress of providing for two children as a single mother, she'd taken the effort to make sure she spent personal time with the two to earn their trust. The memory of the first time Connor had launched himself at her and let himself cry openly in her arms is engraved into his memory forever, and despite the stress and despair he'd been feeling at the time as a young child who had up to then, experienced nothing but emotional neglect, the memory is a good one. It marked the moment he'd recognised Amanda as someone he could trust, and he'd only opened up and unraveled further from there, up until the day he'd finally called her mom and he saw a wetness behind her eyes.

When he was a teenager and had finally been able to find the right words for the discomfort he’d felt with himself she had been the first person he'd turned to, and she'd done everything in her power to research all of his options, reassuring him that she loved him no matter what. He doesn't know what he would have done if Amanda hadn't been there, the lioness of a woman fighting every stumbling block he'd faced on his journey, until he'd finally felt free in himself.

Of course, when he does tell her she's a little shocked that he'd managed to hide Hank from her for so many months, but then she's going into her typical mother hen mode, demanding to see pictures of him, asking him question after question about Hank's personality and values, until eventually she seems completely sated, though he knows it will take her a while to see Hank the way he does, the same way it had taken her a while to warm up to Niles' boyfriend and drop her vaguely threatening act.

Once he makes it home he's immediately pulling his phone out, haphazardly toeing out of his shoes. ‘ _So, everyone knows about you now.’_

He doesn't expect Hank to reply, a quick glance at the clock as he's collapsing face-first onto his bed tells him that Hank must either be about to fall asleep or is already asleep. Nevertheless, his phone still chimes with a new message.

‘ _Should I be worried?’_

He huffs. _Nope, not unless today is the day you've decided to end this._

He watches as Hank types, deletes, then retypes his message. ‘ _Like I_ _would.’_

‘ _Can I video call you?’_ He asks, then. ‘ _I_ _need_ _to see you.’_

As soon as Hank replies he's calling him, waiting with barely contained patience for the call to go through. The first thing he notices when Hank answers is that he has his glasses on, and that the room is illuminated only by a pale lamplight.

"Have you been reading?"

The older man hums, settling back onto a bed that looks much cozier than Connor's own, and he can't help but imagine what it would be like to be wrapped up in it. "Maybe, what gave me away?"

"I feel a little less guilty about calling so late knowing you were already awake." Warmth thrums through him at the soft way that Hank's watching him. He wishes he could reach through the screen to touch him. "Have I ever told you how handsome you look in them?"

"Careful, I'll start thinking you're just trying to get in my pants."

That has the warmth in him pooling decidedly lower, and he tries not to let how much Hank's voice affects him show on his face. It's something he's found himself thinking about most nights really, every time he settles into bed seems to end with him thinking about how the texture of Hank's beard would feel against his cheek, his neck, often much lower. Almost every night now ends with him having to deal with his frustrations and already he can feel a familiar dampness forming, dick slowly swelling with interest. "Can we try something?"

From the look on his face, he already knows what that something is, and when he swallows Connor can’t help but think about laving his tongue over the skin at his pulse point. "Sure."

"I wish I could touch you." He lets his hand travel lower, past what Hank can see on the screen, over the expanse of his stomach to press down on his dick, biting his lip at its sensitivity.

"I wish I could touch you too, Con." Hank's voice has somehow managed to drop deeper. "I think about you a lot."

“Yeah?” The fabric of his pants is starting to become damp, but he doesn’t remove them just yet. "What do you think about?" The way he asks leaves no room for question, and he enjoys the flush that creeps up Hank's face from where he's settles back against the pillows.

"A lot of things," Hank's eyes follow the motion of his hand on the screen as he rakes his fingers through his hair, loosening it from its near perfect place on his head. "I think about how long it would take me to find every freckle on your body." Connor's breath leaves him in a shaky exhale as his hand stills, too momentarily lost in the sentiment of Hank’s words to continue. "And about how you'd feel beneath me-"

"I think about how it would feel to have you on top of me," Connor interrupts, flushing at his own over-eagerness. "I want to feel completely safe underneath you, I want to not be able to think about anything else."

The sound Hank makes goes directly to his dick, and he can feel his hole clench around nothing. He turns the camera so Hank can see the small jut of his cock straining for attention, fabric damp as he reaches a hand down to stroke his fingers down the length again, and he watches as Hank's cool blue eyes darken with the sight.

"I wish I could suck you off right now." Hank's name leaves him on a shaky breath and he speeds up his movements, eventually maneuvering so that he can wriggle out of his clothing, a hiss leaving him when he feels the bare skin of his cold fingers against his sensitive dick. "I think about what sort of sounds you’d make too."

He can barely open his eyes through the sensation of his own familiar fingers on himself with Hank’s voice spurring him on, so he can’’t even begin to imagine what it will feel like when he can finally feel Hank's large hands cupping him, or feel his tongue up his length-

"Could I use my fingers?"

"Yes-" He practically sobs, teasing at his entrance with the tip of a finger, thumb still stroking down the length of his dick. "Hank, let me see you, please-"

It takes a couple of seconds for Hank to fumble and switch to the back camera, but when he does Connor feels all the air leave him as he eases two fingers into himself, slick making the movement easy. He's big, cock hard and heavy against his stomach and its girth would worry him if his mouth wasn't watering at the thought of holding it in his mouth, of his tongue tracing the thick vein going up its underside.

"God, Hank." His fingers ease in and out of himself, sound lewd as he crooks them upwards to hit that spot inside him. "I need you."

"I've got you." He moans out load at the sight of Hank's hand moving up and down his cock, pre-cum already seeping out of its head, and he has to resist the urge to throw his head back and close his eyes so he can keep watching. "I'm not gonna last long, sweetheart." He sounds a little embarrassed but honestly Connor’s the same way. Hank's large hands speeds up, thumb swiping over the head of his dick. "Let me see your face."

"Me- me neither." He barely has the co-ordination to switch the camera back, and he's too far gone to feel any embarrassment when he sees his own face, eyes unfocused as he watches Hank's motions.

"Come for me baby."

Its all he needs to say, and this time he really can't keep his eyes open as he tumbles over the edge, voice climbing a few octaves as he strokes himself through one of the most intense orgasms of his life.

When he does eventually come back to his senses, it's to the sound of Hank groaning out his name as he reaches his own end, and they can do nothing but look at each other as they both catch their breath.

"I'm gonna have to clean up." Hank laughs, easing the tension of the situation in his usual good-humoured way. He thinks he mutters something along the same lines and they both take a short break while they make themselves presentable. By the time Connor makes it back to his bed, Hank is back and waiting for him, so it seems a good a time as any to bring up what's been on his mind for the past few weeks.

"I've got quite a while off in the Summer." He starts, smiling when he sees Hank's tired eyes light up. "Can I come see you again?"

It’s a marvel to watch the way Hank’s smile widens, eyes softening at him in a way that makes it feel as if he’s right there with him, not thousands of miles away.

They make up their plans, Connor will come to see him again some time in July, although any hopes of a nice Summer are dashed when Hank informs him that British summers aren't usually very warm. Not that that makes it any worse, if it's cold then he'll be able to use Hank as a personal heater.

He does eventually have to let Hank go to sleep though, it's approaching one in the morning where he is and even though he’s trying to hide it he's beginning to look very tired by the end of their call. Though they're both reluctant as always to hang up, at least now they have a fairly concrete date for seeing each other again.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about how late this is, it's essay and exam city rn

It's a boring few months. What he once thought was a perfectly good, fulfilling routine quickly becomes tedious, broken up mostly by Connor brightening his day with texts and calls. The weather continues its rolling cycle of grey and his cafe is business as usual, but he feels like he's living the same day over and over again while he waits for June to come around.

Spring brings with it the usual showers, and he can only be envious of Connor when he sends him pictures of decent looking weather thousands of miles away, at least there's a chance that Connor might be around for some of the warmer days.

Connor calls him the night he gets the news that he's managed to find a good two week slot to visit, and from then on they only have to wait until the day they can finally see each other, which thankfully does come around pretty fast.

There is one hitch in what otherwise sounds like a perfect two weeks. The weather forecasts aren't looking great (not that they ever really do) and a storm is due to make landfall on the day that Connor arrives, and whilst is most likely won't be serious, it also means they'll be stuck indoors for a day or two.

For the most part Connor doesn't seem concerned when he tells him the news, far from it, really.

_'I'm sure we'll find something to do ;)'_

_'Oh I'm sure you're just full of ideas'_ He texts back.

It does unfortunately mean that he's unable to go pick Connor up from the airport, a fact that makes him feel guilty no matter how many times he's told that it's fine. The storm's looking to be a heavy one and he can't take any chances, he has to quickly move any of the furniture susceptible to flood damage to his living space on the upper floor.

He's lifting the last remaining chair, arms aching, when the door creaks on its hinges and the figure who's been plaguing his dreams for months finally re-crosses the threshold, a broad smile showing off his teeth. They look at each other for a few moments, as if not really believing what's in front of them, long enough that Hank's arms begin to shake from the weight of the solid wood. The chair is returned to the floor with a grunt, Hank's grimace turning into a genuine smile when he turns to face him.

"You're back."

Connor huffs a short laugh, eyebrows raising playfully. "I'm back."

"Picked a hell of a time."

The only reply he gets is Connor's shoulder lifting briefly in a quick shrug, signature lop-sided smile in place. "Is there anything you need me to do?"

"I need you to come here." He does, practically bounding over to Hank so he can melt into his arms, cheek pressed into the expanse of his chest. Hank's arms wrap around him, grounding himself with the comforting, solid weight of Connor against him, lips immediately pressing into the top of his head.

They're both so lost in the moment of enjoying each other that Hank almost doesn't notice the phone vibrating in his pocket between them, and even when he does it takes him a second to pick up, so used to it being his only connection to Connor that he half expects it to be a call from him. Reluctantly, he has to remove an arm from the embrace so he can check the message, and upon checking it he groans, head collapsing dramatically onto Connor's shoulder when he reads it, Connor's amused huff tickling his jaw. "What?"

"It's Deb." He says, voice muffled by the thin lining Connor's coat. "The fucking sheep are out." He smiles when a comforting kiss is pressed to the corner of his mouth, moving his head to capture Connor’s lips fully, though only briefly as they have to set to work.

Next comes hauling luggage up the steep staircase, and as much as Hank wants to be courteous he has to accept defeat and let Connor take it up himself, muscles too tired after heaving up everything else.

They spent a solid fifteen minutes trying to locates Hank's wellies in the dragon's horde of unused stuff that is the space under the stairs, and they're just as uncomfortable and slightly too small as the last time he put them on, but he soldiers on anyway, Connor trailing behind him as he leaves.

"I'm sorry about this by the way." He extends a hand that Connor takes immediately, fingers intertwining.

"You can't control the weather, Hank." He feels a squeeze, and he looks over to see that Connor's got his usual soft smile on.

"Still," He says. "I wanted you to have a good time."

"If I'm with you I'm having a good time." There's no hint of sarcasm in his voice. "And besides, the storm's not going to last the whole time I'm here."

The walk to Deb's house isn't too long, maybe about fifteen minutes, and the whole time they're discussing ways for Hank to visit Detroit in the winter, or maybe late autumn. He has to admit he's a little curious, the village doesn't really experience the same plummet in temperature or the level of snowfall that Detroit has.

There's more than enough room for a trip in his savings, a thought that both excites him and makes him nervous about the impending evaluation by his family that Connor's told him to be prepared for. Not that he's got anything to hide, but he's always been nervous about first meetings, especially since he often finds himself unable to bite back any sarcastic remarks. Honestly though, Amanda could put him through the most thorough inspection in the world and it would be worth it to get to be with Connor.

Deb's there to greet them as they arrive, and he doesn't miss the way her eyes flit down to look at their hands, face softening for a moment before going back to its usual stony expression while she explains the plan of action for dealing with the deviant flock.

The problem with sheep is that they're not exactly the smartest animal on the planet. Any attempts to help them mostly end with them running as if a wolf is at their heels, and the screams when they feel cornered are just ridiculous. So trying to grab them and push them into a barn when they're already overwhelmed by the new people in their field turns into hell on earth. Deb has a slightly easier time of it, they aren't quite as skittish around her, though whenever she gets close enough to get one they start shrieking about it either way.

Within twenty minutes they're all covered in mud from head to toe, and watching Connor fall flat on his face is funny until it happens to him. Then he has to deal with both Connor and Deb's relentless taunts about his new 'look'. The last sheep proves tricky, the three of them having to work in synchronization so that the ewe can't escape through a gap, and Hank takes a surprisingly solid headbutt to the knees for his trouble.

Needless to say by the time they're finished his old bones feel as if they've been through the wringer, and the three of them are practically unrecognisable, mud clinging to every inch of them. Hank hopes Connor wasn't wearing anything too expensive or nice, but then again he can't imagine Connor being the sort of person to suffer through long haul flights in his best clothes.

Deb does offer to bring them both inside once it's all over but they decline, Hank would much rather get home sooner to finish off securing the cafe and Connor looks dead on his feet from jet lag, dark circles heavily imprinted under his eyes.

"Don't think we're becoming sheep farmers any time soon." He jokes as they're on their way back. The rain is starting to pick up a little, which only seems to make the mess coating them worse when the once drying mud becomes fully liquid again.

"Yes, that was much too much effort." Connor sighs dramatically, and despite him trying to keep up his usually perky appearance Hank can tell that he's exhausted.

But there's no rest to be had, even after that ordeal, and they have to get to work placing sandbags at every possible crevice until they've effectively nearly barricaded themselves within the cafe, Sumo looking more concerned by the minute as the space around him transforms.

Connor drops the final sandbag down with a dull slap. "Think this will be enough?"

Hank shrugs. "Better than nothing." He still looks worried. "It'll be fine Con, we've had floods before and it's not like it's a hurricane."

It's as satisfying of an answer as he can give, even if Connor still looks nervous. "So I guess we just wait now."

"Yep." He starts up the stairs to his now overcrowded living quarters. "Come on, let's get out of these clothes."

"I thought you'd never ask." Connor's smile is coy, eyes crinkling in the corners when Hank only scoffs at him.

"Shower, smartass." He has to try and quell the rising colour in his face when he gets winked at, but Connor does eventually spare him as they retreat upstairs. His home is pretty cozy on a normal day, so now with all of his tables and chairs stacked as well as they can be in every available space there's barely room for the three of them. It's not exactly ideal, but it's for the best just in case the waters do manage to come in.

Connor goes first, slipping into the bathroom after he finds his pyjamas and Hank is left standing there in the living room, too scared to touch the stacked furniture in case any of the mud caking him is transferred. The spray of the shower sounds out and he tries not to think too much about the satisfied noise that leaves Connor when the warm water hits his chilled skin. Luckily for Hank, he doesn't take too long to shower and he's not left standing there for much longer before he's emerging from the bathroom in some loose, comfortable-looking pyjamas, scrubbing at his hair with a towel.

"There's a hairdryer in the drawer." He calls as they swap places, just about hearing the small reply before he's shutting the door and stripping of his clothes, adding them to the existing pile of Connor's own and making a mental note to throw them all into the washing machine once he's done.

He's just about finishing by the time Hank comes back out, hair poofy atop his head. Rising from the stool he'd been perched on, dryer in hand, he gestures Hank over. He has to weave between the army of chairs and tables occupying the room, bumping his hip no small amount of times - God knows how many bruises he'll have by the morning - but he does eventually make it.

"This is cozy." He says as he sits, Connor humming in amusement, raking a hand through his damp grey hair before flipping the dryer back on. If he wasn't sat upright on such an uncomfortable stool he would have fallen asleep in mere seconds from the sensation of Connor's fingers massaging over his head, the heat of the dyer coaxing him further into unconsciousness.

He almost complains at the loss of it when it's eventually over, though it feels as if it's only been a few seconds.

He has to sit there a few moments longer while Connor's perfectionism makes an appearance and he runs a brush through the mane until he's satisfied, and Hank laughs at the expression he receives when he immediately sweeps his own fingers through it.

The rain has started in full by now, a pleasant white noise drumming on the rooftops to drown out the wind whistling through the nooks and crannies of the old building.

"I'm still sorry about all this." He sighs, flicking the TV on to some unassuming nature show and making his way towards the sofa.

Soft lips press against his cheek, and then. "I've already told you," He can feel the deep lines on his forehead unfurrow with the look Connor gives him and he's just gotten comfortable on the sofa when the smaller man slumps on top of him without hesitation, burrowing into his warmth, breath steady at his neck. "stop worrying."

It'll definitely take some getting used to, having another person want him so ardently, but it's not an unwelcome change in his life. Connor sighs contentedly from his position settled on top of him, relaxing into the cushioning of his body. Hank is, without a doubt, the comfier of the two. Not that he doesn't enjoy the feeling of encasing Connor's smaller body with his own, but he's becoming very aware of the fact that his hip bones are sharp as hell, and with a grunt he pushes at the other until their bodies slot together more comfortably.

Connor lifts his head to leave a few apologetic pecks on his lips, and the two soon forget about the TV completely as they settle into the flow of exploring each other slowly, Hank using one hand to stroke across the jut of Connor's hip over the waistband of his pants while the other maps out the shape of his slim-built shoulders. He feels like he could do this for hours, but of course there's a limit for everything, and their enjoyment is cut short when a slight problem arises.

The rhythm of Connor's hand stroking across his jaw is relaxing but he notices that it's starting to slow and the body against him is beginning to sag heavier and heavier.

Hank chuckles lowly, kissing at the corner of his mouth. "Are you falling asleep?" A barely-there hum is the only answer given and he has to nudge at him a few more times before he eventually looks up to pin him with a sleepy glare. "Let's move to the bed or we'll both be sore."

Connor's not too keen on moving, grumbling whenever Hank tries to maneuver out from under him, but he does eventually relent and heave himself up in a way that looks as if he's carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders, letting himself be led by Hank's guiding hand at the small of his back to the bedroom, where he immediately flops down into the bed.

Hank lifts the duvet to cover the both of them, having to pull one corner of it out from under Connor's weight before he can settle in fully. He can already feeling a yawn of his own coming up when he lies back onto the plush mattress and he doesn't even have the excuse of having traveled half way across the world.

Speaking of, he turns onto his side to look at the other and is greeted by the sight of Connor's face half-squashed into the pillow, breaths deep and heavy.

A fond smile creeps onto his face, body turning to shut off the lamp. "... night, Con."

  
  


* * *

  
  


When Hank wakes up again it's to a pitch black room and someone stirring beside him. It honestly takes his brain a little while to catch up and remember why there's another person in his bed but when he does his heart does a flip and he reaches out to stroke down one of Connor's arms. Connor makes a small noise as he slowly comes back into consciousness, eyebrows furrowing whilst shuffling closer to him in his half-asleep state to rest his head on Hank's arm. Hank presses a kiss into his newly washed hair, the faint coconut smell of his own shampoo oddly satisfying, and then another into the crease of his brows which soften immediately at the contact.

"How long was I asleep for?" His voice is thick with sleep, cheek nuzzling into the crook of Hank's arm.

He has to stretch out his free hand, back clicking as he cranes to reach the switch on the small lamp, its light barely adding much to the visibility of the room so much as casting it in a faint orange flow. His eyes have to adjust for a second before he can see the dim outline of 4AM on the clock face. "A while, you were dead to the world around seven."

Connor hums against him, a small sound that's cut off at the end as if he's been surprised by something.

"You're not wearing a shirt." The eyes glued to his chest are impossibly dark in the low light.

"I got kinda," Nimble fingers stroking experimentally up the thick thatch of hair make him swallow. "hot."

Connor doesn't reply to that, instead his fingers continue their exploration through the course hair, mapping out the texture of his skin in such a way that makes Hank acutely away that no one's ever been this enraptured by him before, even when he was younger and much more arrogant. The thought distracts him for a few moments, and it's only when Connor traces over the outline of his chest tattoo over and over again that he realises there's a question in his eyes. "I was young and thought it would look cool."

"I like it." Those full lips press against his chest and he shudders, hand sliding over the back on Connor's neck in an attempt to ground himself. "It suits you." And then he's leaning up to capture him in another kiss, this one purposeful in the way Connor insistently presses into it, lips parting beautifully for him.

There's a dull creak from the old bed when Connor shifts to lie on top of him, his solid weight a grounding force that Hank can barely believe is real after so many months of video calls.

It's difficult for either of them to separate long enough for Hank to pull Connor's shirt off over his head, lips immediately finding each other again as it's absent-mindedly thrown somewhere onto the floor without a second thought.

"Wanna see you." He mumbles against the other's lips, both maneuvering so that Hank can sit upright against the headboard, sending up a silent prayer that it will survive the night, Connor snug in his lap and he tries to ignore the way the younger man's shifting his hips ever so slightly, teasing him with just the barest bit of friction.

Hank's calloused fingers draw a connecting line between two of the freckles at Connor's now exposed collarbones. "I love these." He dips his head down to lavish some attention on the mole just below Connor's ribs, where he can feel the dull thud of a heartbeat, feather-light against his lips. He works his way up from his sternum to the space where Connor's neck meets his jaw, and a low keening sound leaves the other when Hank nuzzles at his ear, leaving teasing nips at the lobe.

Hank muffles a groan into the offered neck when Connor presses down more insistently against his slowly hardening dick. "Hank." Connor's hand closes around his wrist, moving it to the waistband of his pants. "Touch me."

He doesn't need to be told twice, hand dipping down into the waistband of Connor's pants to cup his mound. He has to bite his bottom lip to stifle an embarrassing sound when he immediately meets a warm wetness, Connor's dick straining, an angry colour that just begs for some attention and has Hank’s mouth watering. Seeing and hearing Connor over calls is one thing, having him actually here in his bed is another entirely.

"I've got an idea." Hank says as he shuffles down to lie back completely, trying to encourage Connor forward with his hands at his hips.

Connor looks a little apprehensive, though the flush on his face shows that he's a little more than interested. "Are you sure? I-”

"If I die, I die." Hank winks, committing Connor's expression to memory before he cups his large hands around his ass, easing forward until the other's core is directly above him, his own dick twitching at his thigh at the sight of Connor's dick. He takes his time, pressing feather-light kisses to Connor's thighs, smirking in amusement every time he feels the muscles quiver and Connor scold him for teasing, but that doesn't stop him from taking the long route to Connor's centre, stopping along the way to give more attention to the other thigh, teeth lightly grazing against the muscle there.

Connor lets out a startled little gasp when the first swipe of Hank's tongue licks a languid stripe from his entrance all the way to his straining dick, hips spasming when he finishes it with a flick to its tip. He repeats the move a few more times, Connor's breaths slowly becoming more wrecked until his hand comes to rest in Hank's hair and his hips are shifting shyly against his face.

Hank tests the waters by pressing the pad of one finger to Connor's hole, and the small _please_ that leaves the other's lips has him pressing further in with barely any friction thanks to the wetness steadily leaking from it. Connor doesn't pause in his movements, though he does press back against the finger until he’s buried to the knuckle. A second finger goes in with barely any trouble, stretching out the other man's tight inner walls, and Hank groans into the heat pressed against his lips when he feels Connor's wetness slowly making its way down his wrist. He barely has to move really, content to let Connor grind onto both his fingers and his mouth.

It's almost obscene, how much the sensation of Connor's slick coating his lips and beard is getting to him while he lets his face be ridden for a while longer. It's only when he moves to take Connor's dick fully into his mouth and hums around it that he finally manages to make Connor shout, though he quickly loses his his upper hand when he lets the other control the movements again and he can only lie there, his own cock throbbing almost painfully against his thigh as he lets Connor take his pleasure.

He can tell when Connor gets close from the way his hips begin to stutter in their movements, and he doubles his efforts, sucking and lathing his tongue over Connor’s cock until the body above him uncoils. Connor's breaths leaves him in the form of high,breathy shouts that make Hank glad he doesn't have any neighbours, the body above him thrusting jerkily until he falters and the dam finally breaks loose with a shout of Hank's name.

It takes a minute for Connor to come down fully from his high, shuddering from over-stimulation when he collapses down at Hank's side limply, pressing his face into Hank's neck while his arms come to wrap around him.

"Yeah?" Hank laughs at Connor's dazed expression, running a hand through his completely ruined hair.

"Yeah." His body feels like a scalding heat where he's melted against Hank's side, breathing at Hank's shoulder as he catches his breath. "You're amazing, Hank."

"You were so good for me." He doesn't miss the way the smaller man quivers at that, thighs clamping down on onto of his thighs from where he's lying against him.

Hank's content to just let that be the end of it, but the hand trailing down into his boxers tells him that Connor has other ideas and he hisses when he something finally touches the heated skin of his cock that had been laying neglected against his stomach.

"You're so big." He preens a little at that, rocking upwards into the circle of Connor's hand, the other's breath warm against his collarbone as Connor begins to look for friction against Hank's thigh. "Do you-" He squeezes his hand around Hank's girth. "Do you have any lube, I'm not sure I could-"

He tilts Connor's head up to engulf him in a deep kiss, tongues sliding smoothly against each other in a way that makes Hank groan, pulling back to half whisper. "Top drawer."

The other seems surprised that he actually has some, eyebrow quirking in interest as he sits up to rifle through the drawer, eyes lighting up when he looks through the contents, obviously he must have seen the toy Hank uses to open himself up every now and then, eventually plucking the half empty bottle from its place.

Hank's breath stops at the first few drops of cold liquid to his heated skin, groaning deep in his chest when Connor starts slowly working his hand down his length, thorough as he coats it all with a nice layer before he's climbing back on top of Hank.

His hand is still holding Hank's length when he sinks down slowly, hole twitching at the first contact with the blunt head of Hank's cock. Hank rubs soothing circles into his hips, waiting patiently while Connor breathes a couple of times before trying again.

A noise leaves Connor's throat when the head breaches him, eyes finally opening again to look directly into Hank's. He raises up experimentally, and this time when he lowers himself down he's able to take another inch into his tight heat, slowly working his way down in a slow rhythm. He’s almost managed to sink all of the way down to the base of Hank’s cock when an uncomfortable noise is punched out of him as he takes in another inch, and Hank is immediately trying to push back up at his hips.

“It’s okay,” Connor reassures him, hands cupping his jaw as he tries again, this time managing to take more of him. It’s a slow process but eventually the concentration on Connor’s face is broken when Hank must press up against the right place inside him because his mouth opens to breathe out satisfied pants.

The moment Connor's folds manages to press against his balls Hank lets out the breath he’s been holding, and he leans up to cup Connor's cheek, gently stoking his thumb over the other's sharp cheekbone. He feels a pull at one of his shoulders and understands it as the request that it is, wrapping his arm around Connor's waist so that he can lower them onto their sides, Connor's leg slung almost lazily over his hips.

Hank had no idea how creaky his bed had become until he pulls back to thrust slowly into where he's splitting Connor apart, but the old woods protests fall on death ears in the face of Connor's encouraging moans.

He knows they won't last long like this, not with them both as over-sensitive as they are right now, and he shifts to maneuver himself on top of Connor, staring down into his open expression. Connor's eyes are filled with a pure adoration that he's sure is mirrored in his own, leaning down to capture his lips again before he starts moving in earnest, picking up a smooth rhythm that has Connor clutching at the sheets beneath him.

His own orgasm is already building up at a rapid pace, and he separates from the other's lips to trail a hand down the trail of hair that leads to Connor's dick, stroking in time with his own thrusts.

"Hank…"

"Nearly there sweetheart." Connor whines at the nickname, grasping at Hank's shoulder to try and connect with every available inch of him. "Are you gonna come for me again?"

He doesn't answer with words, but the way he tightens around Hank tells him everything he needs to know and his movements pick up their speed again, balls slapping obscenely against Connor's wet skin as he tips over the edge again, pulling Hank's weight back onto his as trembles beneath him. Hank rides out Connor's orgasm, groaning at the feeling of Connor’s walls pulsing around him, and when Connor threads his fingers in his hair and pulls him into another kiss he lets go completely, hips stuttering to a stop as he empties himself into him.

They lay like that for a while longer, exchanging lazy kisses, until Hank's softened enough that he easily slips out, cock making a valiant attempt to harden again at the sight of his come leaking out of Connor's open hole.

"I'm gonna be dead by the time this storm's over." He murmurs into Connor's neck when he moves to not rest his full weight on the smaller man.

"Me too." Connor’s hands groom through his hair soothingly. "We probably need another shower."


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is taking so long to get out and I keep adding to the chapter count ;-;

Thankfully, the storm doesn't stick around for long. By the time morning comes the rain has already petered to a light shower, wind no longer blowing a gale and shaking the foundations of the building, though it does occasionally pick up speed. Not that Hank was thinking about doing too much moving today anyway, not with the way his muscles protest every movement. Not only had the sheep chasing nearly taken him out, Connor of course was there to put the final nail in his coffin last night.

Speaking of, the younger man's still sleeping soundly next to him. Dark circles, still under his eyes even while he sleeps, are a testament to how jetlagged he was when he'd arrived, and Hank can't find it in his heart to disturb him. So he waits instead, and while others might find it boring to lie there in silence for an hour, Hank is utterly enraptured by the man beside him, body rising and falling with deep, even breaths, brows furrowing randomly every now and then.

The dull early morning sun only seems to enhance his features, and Hank lays there picking out all the deep chestnut undertones that the light brings out in his loose curls, hand itching to run through them but at the same time completely unwilling to jolt him awake.

Connor is not a pretty sleeper by any stretch of the imagination, but he's still somehow the most beautiful person Hank's ever seen.

It's with this thought that Connor's eyes finally crack open, startling ever so slightly at the sight of Hank staring right at him but he's quick to get his bearings, the corners of his mouth turning up before he's melting back down into the bed.

"Good morning."

Hank doesn't reply in favour of crowding into his space to press their lips together lightly, Connor humming his contentment against him.

"Has the storm stopped?" Connor can barely keep both of his eyes open, hauling himself forward gracelessly to rest his weight on Hank.

"Just about." He says. "Wasn't as bad as they thought it might be."

It's almost cat-like, the way Connor's lithe body curves into him, warm skin pressing up against his side, the warm thigh that settles across his hip a stark reminder that they're both completely unclothed. The realisation is nearly enough to stir him to life again, but just the thought of moving too much is making him feel tired.

"Don't wanna move today." Connor whispers from where he's busy lovingly scattering kisses across his jaw, and while Hank thinks his beard can't be pleasant to rub against, the other obviously disagrees.

"Glad we're on the same page." The bed is much too warm and inviting to contemplate doing anything else.

"We should probably let Sumo out the back for a little bit, though."

It's true but it doesn't make the task seem any more appealing.

"I'll do it." Connor offers, giving him one last peck before he rises.

It takes him a second to find his pyjamas where they'd been flung to the floor the night before, then he's practically a blur as he changes and makes his way down to let the dog out. Hank can't help but snort into the pillow when he hears Connor's voice, obviously aimed at Sumo, talking to him as if he's a person.

If anyone had asked Hank this time last year if he thought he'd ever be in any sort of romantic relationship again, his answer would definitely have been no. Not that he'd ever thought it was impossible for him to find another person - after all, Deb had met her now husband around two years after the divorce - he'd just never thought it was on the cards for him. He'd been in love before, sure, he'd loved Deb in a way, even if they'd both admit their marriage was rushed, but he thought he was well past the age of pining after someone.

Until now, of course. God knows people had often teased him for looking like a kicked puppy during the six months he and Connor were apart, his demeanor had changed so much after Connor sorted out his flights that just by looking at him Deb had been able to accurately guess that he was coming back. Waking up next to him hadn't felt strange at all, it had just felt comfortable. As if this was something they'd been doing for years, and the thought that they'll have to be apart again until Hank can make it to Detroit is almost unbearable.

Here he goes again, getting lost in thought whenever he thinks for more than two seconds about the love that he feels for this other man who had, this time last year, been a complete stranger.

It's startling, how easy it is to admit to himself that that's what this is. He’s almost certain Connor feels the same way, or he at least hopes with all his life that Connor loves him back, but there's still a small nagging feeling of low self esteem telling him that it will end badly if he tells him. Six months isn't too soon though, surely.

He’s knocked back out his thoughts when the door reopens, Connor flopping back into bed, noticeably cooler than he was when he left and he laughs when Hank shudders at the cold hands touching his bare skin.

"Definitely not doing anything today." He wraps his arms around the smaller man. Connor hums in agreement, already looking as if he's going to fall asleep any second. "Except shower."

It takes them a long time to even get to that, and they must lay there for at least an hour longer before they both decide that they can’t take the tacky feeling of their own releases on their skin anymore. They don't take turns showering this time, instead they both crowd into the cramped space to do it together, lathering and rinsing shampoo out of their hair, Hank preening as Connor takes his time lathering shower gel over his body, and if their hands stray to other places neither of them is complaining.

The rest of the day is spent in a comfortable bliss, hours blurring into one long stream of them enjoying the feeling of being so close after so long. Whatever random crap is on TV doesn’t hold a torch to drawing constellations out of the freckles sprinkled down Connor’s arms like small smatterings of paint.

Somehow in all the confusion of preparing for the storm he’d forgotten to do a full food shop, so when the evening comes they have to settle for Hank piecing together a stir fry from an assortment of things hanging around in the fridge. Not that Connor minds in the slightest, and he spends most of the time Hank’s trying to cook clinging to him from behind, only just too short to be able to stretch up and lay his chin on his shoulder. He only eventually detaches himself from around him when he’s plating the food.

“We should do something tomorrow.” He says around a fork full of aubergine.

“Would that be okay?” Connor asks. “Can you take tomorrow off?”

"Yep," He says. "It's a small cafe in a small village, the world won't end if I close for a day."

Connor takes a moment to consider this, absentmindedly pushing a piece of food through the sticky sauce of the plate.

"If you're sure." He is, and Connor must see that in his face. "Then I'd love to."

The nearest city, although not big by city standards, still has plenty of things to see and do.

It’s their second official physical date, if you count the walk that brought them together in the first place (and Hank certainly does). And since it’s a second date, they can certainly be excused for doing all the cliché things that Hank’s honestly only seen in movies. He used to scoff and feel nauseous when he’d see couples being too obvious in public, but honestly, he gets it now. He’s still definitely going to judge other people for being heavy on PDA, but he understands the need to be so close to your partner, their hands interlinked as they explore all the sights of the city.

Maybe sights is a generous word, there’s not much to look at without actually going in anywhere. Hank can’t say he always understands art, but the gallery they find themselves in seems to have something for everyone. At least they both agree on not quite getting most modern art, but Connor has some sort of fascination with some of the surrealism that just makes Hank feel uneasy.

When they eventually make their way to a small exhibition of impressionism, they can both find pieces that they enjoy and they sit for a little while to take in some of the painting that require a little distance to bring together.

“One of my friends back home paints like this.” Connor says, gesturing around them.

“Markus?”

“Yeah, I go to a lot of his exhibitions.” One of Connor’s hands comes to rest atop his own. “You should come if he’s holding one when you’re in Detroit.”

“Showing me off to your friends?” He raises his eyebrows suggestively, reveling in the way Connor flushes and laughs.

“Maybe a little.” He admits. “But it would be a good way for you to meet them.”

The restaurant they go to later that night is such a cliché Italian restaurant that Hank’s honestly surprised they don’t end up sharing the same strand of spaghetti at some point. Connor even jokingly suggests it when his plate arrives, though they’re not quite the sort of couple who would subject the rest of the restaurant to that, even if Hank does think it would be funny.

When they’re finished it doesn’t take as long as usual to drive back home, maybe people are put off by the lingering showers in the wake of the storm, but they’re not complaining as they drive down completely empty country roads, hands connected in the space between them.

That night, when Connor collapses down into bed from where he’d been riding Hank, exhausted and utterly spent, he spends a minute catching his breath, eyes locked onto his before he breathes “I love you” like it’s the easiest thing in the world.

And maybe it is. Hank, always one to second guess, barely even spends a second inside his own head before he’s saying it back, stroking adoringly down the other’s high cheekbone.

Even though, of course, Hank still has to work during most days, Connor really doesn’t seem to mind at all. In fact Hank’s almost confused about how much Connor seems to enjoy spending the days in the cafe. He’d thought the younger man would get bored, maybe a little stir crazy in the small space, but instead he spends it relaxing in various spots, catching up with many of the locals he’d met during the winter, occasionally offering to help Hank in the back, though more often than not his intentions are only to steal a few kisses.

The second to last day of Connor being here definitely has a melancholy mood undermining everything they do, even if they are both trying to not let it, and Connor’s smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes as he’s helping him pack.

They go about their usual routine, picking something to cook and doing it together, though this night hasn’t been quite as fun as others, maybe it’s the knowledge that this will be the last time before they’re making their way to the airport in the early morning.

Connor doesn’t immediately snuggle into him like he usually does when they make their way to bed. Instead, tonight he’s laying on his back, eyes to the ceiling. And so disconcertingly quiet, thoughts obviously elsewhere.

It’s only when Hank rolls to face him and stroke a comforting hand down his arm that he finally seems willing to open up.

"Where do you think this is going?" His voice is quite and he's adamantly looking anywhere but directly at Hank.

"What do you mean?"

"The long distance." It sounds as if he's putting a lot of effort into getting his voice out. "I don't want to be long distance. Not forever. And I didn't want to spring anything on you too soon if I didn't know how serious you are about this but I've been thinking about it a lot-"

"Connor." He closes a hand around the other's forearm, trying to offer him any sort of grounding force. "Breathe for a second."

It's strange to actually see him to nervous about something, mouth twitching every now and then as he thinks about how to phrase whatever he's about to say.

"My company has branches here.”

Hank's brain has apparently decided now is the perfect time to not take anything in or put two and two together, leaving him to just stare blankly waiting for an explanation.

"I could get a work visa for three years," He adds cautiously. "so we'd live less than an hours drive away from each other if I lived in the city."

His heart feels like it's about to leap out of his chest but he doesn't want to pressure Connor at all or influence his decision too much. "Is that what you want to do?"

"Yes." He looks confused, and when his confused eyes finally meet Hank's again he almost feels as if he's being torn in two by the hurt look across his features. "Would you not want that?"

"Of course I would!" The way the words leave him is almost frantic."It's just- is it what you want? I mean, it's a long way for you to move away from your family."

"I'm in my thirties, Hank." He deadpans. "And I don't like living there, you know that."

He did. A lot of their late video calls were marred by Connor being very obviously unhappy with his work and he'd often thought he'd do anything to relieve how down he always looked, and if this is what both of them want, then who is he to say no?

"I know." He says. "I just wanted to make sure."

"I am."

He huffs a short laugh at Connor's puffed up in determination, leaning down to kiss between his brows and smooth out the crease there. "I can't think of anything better."

Connor smiles back at him, wrapping his arms around him in the familiar hug Hank was worried just moments ago he wouldn’t be getting to enjoy tonight.

“If we time this right.” He begins, voice muffled slightly from where he’s squashed his face against Hank’s chest. “Then I can be moving over at the same time you fly back after visiting me.”

“If we can survive long distance travel together I’m sure we’ll survive anything.”

“The ultimate couples test.” Connor agrees with a laugh.

It’s hard for them to get to sleep that night, both because they want to spend as much time taking each other in before they’re apart again and because they’re both too excited at the thought of Connor moving to even begin to think about going to sleep.

A three year visa. They can work with three years. By the time Connor comes back over they’ll have been together for a year, and him living in the city will give him chance to get his bearings living in a new country on his own for a little while, then who’s to say if he’ll make his way into Hank’s home permanently.

Unfortunately for them, morning does eventually have to come, and Connor does have to go again. Fortunately though, it’s Sunday and Hank can accompany him to the airport, giving them a couple more hours together, plotting both Hank’s visit to Detroit and how Connor will pitch his transfer request to his company. It shouldn’t be too hard, he’s worked there long enough to have gained enough skills to be considered for the visa.

The only thing that Hank doesn’t like is knowing that he’ll essentially be working the same job he’s always hated, even if Connor does assure him that being close to him will make all the difference in the world. Either way, it’s definitely something best left to a completely different discussion.

The months spent between Connor leaving and Hank arriving in Detroit are much the same as the lonely months before Connor had come back. They try to voice or video call at least every other night if their lives and timezones let them. It feels easier now, somehow. It’s probably the fact that they know they’re both completely serious by now, and the whole visa application actually goes smoother than expected, even if there are a couple of frustrating speed bumps like whichever anonymous office worker the application gets sent to not understanding that adoption certificates replace original birth certificates, as well as some bumps in explaining Connor’s medical needs that are more annoying than anything.

Apart from these things though he’s accepted relatively quickly, and by September they’re making full plans for how they’re going to move Connor’s things across. They’re trying to be tactical about it, if Hank travels very lightly when he comes to Detroit, then he can use his baggage allowance to bring more of Connor’s belongings without them having to resort to how expensive it can be to send a lot of things to a completely different country.

Hank’s actually never traveled out of the country much, so he can’t say he’s looking forward to a long distance flight, but such minor discomfort barely even crosses his mind when the reward is getting to see Connor again, and before they know it December rolls around and it’s time for him to go.

He's been off the plane for two seconds before he's struck by just how cold Detroit is. Not that home is much better, but God if he doesn't miss the rain and murk right now, bleary eyed as he barely manages to make his way through the frigid airport.

It hits him that he must look like absolute shit. First time Connor's seen him in months and he’s all disgusting from long distance travel. At least he’d managed to sleep on the flight. Maybe too well, he has a feeling he’ll be up all night.

Despite his joking threats of ambushing him with a meeting with the family, Connor comes to pick him up alone, throwing himself into him the moment they spot each other in arrivals.

It’s not a long drive from the airport to Connor’s apartment, and before too long he’s finally getting to see the rooms he’s seen a million times over video call. Of course, Connor offers to shower with him, and of course, he doesn’t refuse, though honestly his shower is much smaller than Hank’s own and it’s pretty hard for them to get everything done, especially when the boiler decides it doesn’t want to work every now and then and they’re doused with freezing water and no choice but to use it unless they want shampoo to dry in their hair.

It’s an ordeal that definitely isn’t romantic, both of them shivering and barely able to feel their toes by the time they’re out, though at least a hairdryer offers the tiniest slither of relief.

The real relief comes when they can sink into Connor’s bed together, immediately latching onto each other for warm that doesn’t take long to come once they’re settled into a natural rhythm of exploring each other once again, one of Connor’s cold thighs wedged between his own and he groans when he feels the other grind against his hip.

“I’ve thought about your drawer a lot, you know.” Connor murmurs against his mouth and it takes him a few seconds to clock on, his head trying and failing for a few moments to string a coherent thought together with the way Connor’s hand is smoothing over the curve of his ass.

Oh. That drawer.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." A soft laugh leaves his mouth, though there's no hint of mocking in it. "I want to see you open up for me."

"Is that right?" His smirk is short lived when he feels that hand squeeze him gently, dark eyes scanning his every minute reaction.

The one he gives must be the one Connor’s looking for because he repeats the action, barely giving Hank the chance to draw a sharp breath before he’s capturing his mouth again, tongue tracing the sensitive seam of his lips.

Their kiss is only broken when Connor has to grab the lube, though the cradle of his legs isn’t left empty for long before Connor’s slotting between them again. It’s a good thing he’s so light, otherwise he’d be giving Hank a dead leg from the way he’s trapped a thigh between himself and the bed, his other thigh settling heavily over narrow hips.

He’s so distracted by the sensation of Connor trailing featherlight kisses across the expanse of his collarbones that he doesn’t even notice to subtle click when he opens the tube, and it’s only when a slick finger experimentally ghosts over his hole that all thoughts are effectively cut off by lips closing around one of his nipples.

The first press of a finger inside him is slightly cold, though it’s quick to warm up from Hank’s own heat as it slowly sinks in all the way. It’s been more than a while since he’s been touched this way by another person, and the initial sensation of it is strange more than anything else. Connor’s fingers are much slimmer than Hank’s own, so it’s not long before he can add a second one, Hank’s voice catching around a small groan at the familiar pleasant burn it brings about.

Connor shifts to lay more attention on his other nipple, lips delicately tugging the perked flesh. It’s something only Hank knows about himself, but apparently Connor’s catching on quickly to how sensitive they are.

If it was anyone else Hank would be embarrassed both by the sounds of Connor’s fingers opening him up and the sounds starting to leave his mouth, but when their eyes meet he can tell he’s enjoying the sounds Hank’s making as much as Hank’s enjoying the slide of his fingers.

He takes his time preparing him, but when he starts pressing a third finger in Hank’s definitely had enough, cock straining and threatening to burst if Connor doesn’t hurry up.

"Connor."

"Alright, alright." He chuckles against him, still focused on laving his other nipple with an equal amount of attention, he eventually moves back up to lick into Hank’s mouth. "Stay there." He bites Hank's lower lip before he's quickly reaching for a drawer, pulling out a harness and a sizeable strapon that only makes his cock throb even more. It's not so big that Hank would worry about fitting it but it's also just the perfect size to still satisfy and he has to swallow a gulp when he takes in the texture of the veins over its length.

"How do you want to do this?" Connor’s already maneuvered his way into it with ease.

"Just like this." He can feel the flush rising in full bloom on his cheeks as he watches Connor from between his legs running a teasing hand up the length. "I want to see you."

Connor smiles softly at him, crawling over so he can settle between Hank’s legs, running a soothing hand in a gentle caress over the thin skin of his inner thigh. He leans over, pressing his flat abdomen down onto Hank’s decidedly not flat stomach to mouth at his jawline, rubbing the slick length of the strapon teasingly over his hole. His breath stops when it catches on his rim a few times, dick throbbing whenever Connor’s hand squeezes at the cushioning of his ass.

"Tell me if I go too fast." He whispers, then the head is pressing into him, a comfortable, even stretch that makes his breath hitch. The feeling definitely isn’t unfamiliar, but having another person attached to it certainly is. He doesn’t quite know what to do with his hands and eventually settles for stroking through Connor’s hair as he enters him.

When Connor’s hips meet the backs of his thighs he pauses, letting Hank take a moment to adjust to the feeling of being opened so fully. The slow drag of the length pulling out only to experimentally thrust back in is enough to push a groan over his lips, giving Connor permission to repeat the action.

His rhythm is steady, angle changing ever so slightly with each thrust to find what he's looking for. A small jolt of pure electricity shoots up him when he finds it, and he doesn’t even have to put it into words because Connor knows from the way Hank tightens his hold in his hair.

Hank lets himself relax fully back into the bed with a shaky sigh, content to just ride out the steady doses of euphoria Connor is giving him, the pressure slowly building up in his cock with every sure strike to the bundle of nerves inside him. He looks down when he feels the other's gaze on him, dark gaze watching him with pure hunger.

Connor lets out his own breathless gasp when Hank moves a hand to tweak at one of his nipples, rolling the small bud between his fingers, gently as first until he presses harder and the cock splitting him open only speeds up.

Hank's hand wanders down to touch his own swollen dick but a hand immediately bats him away, Connor ignoring his pout in favour or leaning over him fully, so that the only thing he can see is his warm gaze watching him. "I know you can come just like this."

The sheer cockiness in his voice is enough to make the heat pulsing through Hank multiply. He can't find it in himself to be embarrassed by the way his voice is steadily losing his normal restrictions, stuttering moans leaving him each time Connor strikes that spot inside him with eye-watering accuracy.

"God, Con." Connor only moves faster, rhythm barely faltering as he sets a punishing pace that Hank hasn't felt in years, his orgasm approaching faster than it ever has when he uses toys on himself. The way Connor's looking at him is almost unbearable, eyes shining with a pure adoration that Hank feels as if he'll never be able to live without again, the softness of his eyes a stark contrast compared to the rush of his pace.

He tangles a hand in Connor's sweaty locks when he's about to reach the brink, other hand tightening on the other's shoulder in a grip that's sure to be bruising, head tilting back and leaving his neck exposed for Connor to attack. Then he's coming undone with a harsh gasp, releasing against both of their chests.

The cock inside him only moves a couple more times before Connor can tell he's getting overstimulated, taking care as he slowly pulls out.

Hank feels as if he can barely move , limbs weighed down in a calming afterglow that feel as if it was thrumming gently through his veins. There's a dull thud when Connor carelessly throws the strapon elsewhere, and he tries to look at him in mock shock that he'd be so careless. Connor looks utterly wrecked from where he's kneeling on the bed, Hank's spent cock twitching again at the sight of his slick leaking out of him.

"Come here." He just about gathers the strength to sit up and frame Connor's hips with his hand, fingers immediately going to rub down the swollen length of Connor's cock. Connor can only tip forward to breathe raggedly at his neck as he works over his dick, and with how turned on he already is it barely takes any time at all for him to reach his own shuddering orgasm, hips bucking up against Hank a couple of times before they're both collapsing back down.

"We've got to stop taking showers before we do this."

Hank scoffs. "No way I'm going back in that thing anytime tonight."

  
  


  
  


  
  



	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...guess who's back with the final chapter

The meeting with Connor’s family is nowhere near as nerve-wracking as Hank had thought it would be after spending over an hour grooming himself in Connor’s cramped bathroom mirror and getting dressed into the nicest clothes he owned, a shirt and pants that he had brought over specifically for this meeting.

“There’s no need to be so formal.” Connor had said even as he preened at Hank’s hair, pulling a few strands loose from their tying so they’d come down to frame his face in the exact way that he likes. “They’re going to love you.”

Love might have been a strong word but they definitely don’t hate him, even as he sits here with Amanda’s sharp gaze analysing everything about him. He can’t blame her, her son is about to move halfway across the world, he can forgive her for being a little blunt with her questions, protective mask firmly pulled over her face in a way that tells him that she’ll see right through him if he isn’t sincere. In the space of a few hours she’s already asked him enough questions that he’s sure she now knows more about him and his life than he does himself, but she’s finally backed off a little, apparently satisfied that he’s answered everything she’d wanted to know.

Niles is a little more forgiving, and he warms to Hank almost instantly compared to Amanda’s initial coldness, though that’s not saying much and he does still occasionally side eye him as if he’ll turn tail and run after so much time spent building this relationship.

“He just wants to know I’ll be happy.” Connor assures him sometime later.

Connor has his flat sorted and ready for him to pick up the keys in only a few short weeks when he moves, the fact that he has a space for himself definitely seems to have warmed Amanda and his brother up to him in case they’d feared any sort of possessive behaviour. He’d almost wondered out loud what Connor’s exes must have been like for him to receive this treatment but he keeps the thought to himself once he remembers some of the shitty things Connor’s already told him.

Blessedly, the fact that it’s New Years Eve takes a little of the attention off of Hank, especially when, later in the night, more people begin to filter in, a mix of the family’s friends excited to start drinking and catching up on a busy year.

It’s more than just a New Years Eve party though, everyone knows that Connor’s moving soon, and so he finds himself without him for quite a bit of the party as he’s pulled in different directions by different acquaintances wanting to say goodbye.

Which is how he ends up talking to North, after she once again apologises to him for the only other time he’d met her over video call when she’d been drunk. Not that she isn’t getting there now, drink spilling over a little whenever she makes an over-enthusiastic hand gesture. She gives off an air that tells him she’d be a terrifying person to be on the wrong side of, especially when it comes to the people she cares about, just the way she speaks about Connor tells him that if he ever hurt him (not that he would) she’d move mountains to come and beat his ass.

As the clock rolls more towards midnight she’s swept away by Markus vowing to make her drink some water to sober up. Hank offers a small apology to him, he’s taking Connor home with him just days before one of his exhibitions, not that Markus holds a grudge about things like that.

An arm grabs him and he comes face to face with Connor, who’s definitely swaying a little on his feet after all the goodbye drinks people have been giving him.

“Hey handsome,” Definitely a little drunk. “You ready for midnight?”

He’s denied a quick peck by Connor blocking him with his hand, reiterating his point that they need to save it, which makes Hank’s eyes roll in a fond way, stealing a quick kiss to Connor’s cheek that makes the tipsy man giggle.

As the clock ticks closer to midnight Connor leads him outside with everyone else, and they watch while some people set up fireworks and others anxiously hurry them to finish before it’s too late.

The night air is made bearable by the warm body pressing into his side, brown eyes twinkling with excitement when the countdown finally begins. It’s a blur of voices shouting, people scrambling to set off fireworks, the atmosphere coiled with the tension of an entire city counting down.

He’s so caught up in it all that he barely notices when the clock ticks over, but he’s brought back home again when Connor leans up to press against him, a tender, chaste kiss filled with promises for the year ahead. He never wants to pull away, even as everyone else erupts into cheers around them, celebrating the new year.

“I love you.” He breathes into the cold air between them when they eventually part, foreheads still pressed together, breaths mingling in the small space. The words are so easy to say to him, even if the meaning if just as heavy every time.

“I love you too.” The worlds tremble out of Connor’s lips, shaky with the weight of it all and they only pull away when more people want to come congratulate them.

Despite not being drunk he doesn’t remember too much after that, and he spends the rest of the party being appraised by so many new faces that he has absolutely no chance of placing names to, but they all seem friendly enough.

Mercifully for his tired eyes the party doesn’t last too long, not when Amanda starts subtly ushering people away from her house at around 3AM. He’s thankful when Niles offers them both a lift back and they don’t have to worry about getting a taxi on such a busy night, though he does have the sneaking suspicion that Niles is trying to find a way to spend as much time with his brother as possible before he leaves.

The apartment is now sparse with how they’ve been frantically packing and selling things that aren’t going to be brought over, and although Connor’s commented more than once that he isn’t really going to miss the place, he does still breathe out a wistful sigh once they enter and he takes in the empty main room.

Falling into bed beside him feels as natural as breathing now and they’re both dead to the world almost instantly, worn out by the long night.

They both barely sleep the night before the big move, and Hank swears he sees Niles’ eyes watering when they say their goodbye, Connor muttering into their hug that they can always visit each other.

The flight is long and somehow feels even longer with the nerves and excitement of starting a new chapter in their lives. They’re both dead on their feet as they collect the keys for Connor’s new flat and set about making it more of a home, and Hank even stays the first night rather than take the long bus ride back to the village.

Practically the entire village seems to know that Connor’s moved over even if he has to spend most of his time in the city, both a pro and a con of living in such a tight-knit community is that the second he’d told Deb she’d told everyone else.

It still blows him away, how much of an impression Connor managed to make in the few short weeks he’s stayed in the village, people are constantly asking after him and wondering how he’s doing, and on weekends when Connor doesn’t have any work they can usually ask him himself.

It’s not long after he’s moved that they’re having a meal together with Deb and her husband that Connor finally meets Cole on a week that he’s come back to visit from university and is staying at Deb’s house in the spare bedroom. Hank can see that Cole likes him, he’s pretty bad at hiding his opinions of other people most of the time.

It’s a relief as well as the final thing that cements Connor in his life, now that he’s met everyone.

They still have their jobs to do, even if they do want to just spend all their time together, it’s an unfortunate fact of life that they still have to earn money, and Connor’s three year visa requires him to work at that job that he hates, though the fact that he can often stay at Hank’s over weekends is a small mercy.

After the first year even the drive between the village and the city feels too much for them, and before he knows it Connor is settling into his house with him like he’s always belonged there, barely looking back on the day he says goodbye to his flat. It comes with a couple of questions from the council raising suspicious eyebrows even if it’s perfectly normal for someone to move country and move in with a significant other after a year, they also have to take care of making sure Connor’s prescriptions get sent to the pharmacy in the village rather than the one by his flat in the city. It does also mean that he’ll have to commute two hours a day to get to and from work, but he doesn’t seem to care about that at all when the pay off is coming home to the warmth of the cafe and settling down with Hank in the evening.

By the time Connor’s second year in the UK comes about they’re both happily set in their routines, fitting themselves into each other’s lives perfectly like two jigsaw pieces. Hank can barely imagine how he’d been happy before without the other man pressed against his chest when they go to sleep every night, weathering every storm with him and setting his pulse ablaze whenever he suggests some new thing for them to try out in the bedroom. Their quickly growing out of hand collection of lingerie for the both of them is the thing that Connor’s been focused on recently, to the point that Hank has nearly tripped down the stairs chasing after Sumo to stop him from lumbering into the cafe with a particularly frilly lace piece hanging out of his mouth. On more than one occasion.

It’s another night of them wrapped up in each other’s tight embrace when Connor brings up the subject of his visa and its quickly approaching expiration date.

“We’ll have to think about what to do when my work visa runs out.” It’s breathed out against Hank’s neck and even as he says it his arms tighten in their circle around him.

“There’s still a year before that, Con.” It takes a considerable effort to pry Connor’s arms away from where their clinging to him so he can rub his hardened fingertips across his knuckles comfortingly.

A small contented sigh passes through Connor with a small hum, interlinking their fingers and squeezing gently. “I don’t want to go back.” The words are small, as if he’s afraid of sounding childish.

“You won’t have to,” He assures him, lifting their joined hands so he can press his lips against Connor’s fingers in a small promise. “there are ways for you to stay forever.”

Connor’s lips twitch up with every press of a small kiss to his fingers. “I could just apply for the visa again.” His voice doesn’t sound like he’s even convincing to himself and there’s no way Hank’s is going to let him continue working at the job that he hates, even Connor seems to realise that that’s not an option, he’s been wanting to quit for years.

“That’s not what I was gonna say.” He stops his ministrations on Connor’s hand in favour of guiding it towards his chest to feel his heartbeat and Connor’s eyes spark as if he already knows where this is going.

“Oh?” He says coyly, fingers rubbing over the fabric of his sleeping shirt. “What were you gonna say?” Soft eyes lock onto his and the words nearly die on his tongue at the beauty of the man before him so openly in love with him, but he musters on.

“I was going to ask if you’d marry me.”

The smile Connor gives him is blinding in the split second he sees it before he’s got an armful of him again, Connor’s face pressed against his shoulder and as he’s carding his hands through thick locks he can even feel a little dampness form on his skin.

“Of course I will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you've enjoyed this purely self-indulgent comfort food, I know I've definitely had fun writing it
> 
> Twitter: @AGekkota


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